


Figuring it Out

by mishatalkstoomuch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (She's not wrong), (don't worry I'll tag it beforehand), (flames will somehow be involved at undetermined intervals), (she's not an idiot), (sorrynotsorry), (this will middle in flames?), A little angst cause it's Snowbaz, Agatha kinda knows too, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blatant appropriation of Magickal History, But it's skippable, But wait there's plot, Cutesy shit, Fiona thinks he's gone mad, Fluff, I started this at 3am so give me a break, If Rainbow Rowell didn't want me to worldbuild then she should've made more backstories, Love, M/M, Mystery, Neither does Baz, Niall totally knows, Penny thinks Baz is plotting, Roommates, Simon doesn't know how to have a relationship, SnowBaz, So does his dad, There's no way Baz is straight, There's some mage angst too, This Will End In Flames, Why am I allowed to tag things?, a lot of fluff, honestly I just want them to be roommates in love, let me have my headcanons, mild smut in Chapter 5, nothing has been resolved, possible smut in later chapters, snazzleton, snuggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishatalkstoomuch/pseuds/mishatalkstoomuch
Summary: It’s strange to be back at Watford. The grounds are the same ー same buildings, same room, same mervolves lurking in the moat ー and yet life here seems fundamentally changed. I mean, the most obvious reason would be Baz. I honestly don’t know what to do with myself now that we’re… boyfriends. We’re boyfriends. And what does that even mean? Do we eat together now? Sit next to each other in classes? I share a room. With my boyfriend....Canon Divergence: “Book Four” never happened. The Humdrum never visited the Pitch estate. The Mage never kidnapped Ebb. Nicodemus never told them who was behind the murder.Everyone is back at Watford after winter break, but how is Simon supposed to focus on schoolwork (or on finding Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s killer) when his apparently-not-evil-but-still-a-total-arse roomate is now his totally-hot-and-somehow-still-an-arse secret boyfriend? Will the two of them ever manage to find a balance? Will Penelope ever learn to knock? Is Simon Snow actually even gay?Can love really be enough, when the whole world is stacked against you?





	1. Things Not to Think About

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, just a little bit of my plot.
> 
> Please let me know what you like and what you don't! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

******Simon**

It’s strange to be back at Watford. The grounds are the same ー same buildings, same room, same merwolves lurking in the moat ー and yet life here seems fundamentally changed. I mean, the most obvious reason would be Baz. I honestly don’t know what to do with myself now that we’re… boyfriends. We’re _boyfriends_ . And what does that even mean? Do we eat together now? Sit next to each other in classes? _I share a room. With my boyfriend._ I used to stay over at Agatha’s for days on end, but we never shared a room. It feels so secretive. And weird. (Is it supposed to feel sexy? Because I don’t know if I can maintain sexy.) (We share a bathroom. There’s nothing sexy about bathrooms.) (Or laundry.) (Or morning breath.) Baz and I haven’t even talked about sex. Ever since our unsuccessful conversation with the numpties, we’ve basically just alternated between making out and coming up with increasingly far-fetched conspiracy theories. Penny came up with a particularly vivid one about a possible numpty takeover. Baz’s aunt Fiona gave him one about the Mage. We’re still nowhere close to having anything figured out.

I don’t really have anything to unpack, since I’ve basically been wearing my Watford uniform and some of Baz’s clothes for the past two weeks. Nobody in Baz’s family said anything about it, but every once in a while his dad would give me weird looks. Baz said that his dad is in denial about his queerness, but I wonder if he suspects anyway. Fiona definitely suspects. She’s the one who drove us up here (she made Baz sit in the back with me, it was actually kind of funny), and the whole time she kept glancing back at us with an eyebrow raised. She didn’t say anything, but it was enough to make me thoroughly embarrassed. Meanwhile Baz was acting totally cool about it. The tosser.

Now Baz is throwing his bag onto his bed and closing the door to our room. He’s wearing this gray button-up that’s half-tucked into the front of his jeans, and he looks ridiculously posh. (He looks _posh_ . In _jeans._ ) I don’t know if it makes me want to shove him or kiss him. Maybe both. (Would the Anathema kick in if I shoved him against the wall for nonviolent purposes? Who knows.) I don’t realize that I’m staring at Baz until he smirks at me.

“Something the matter, Snow?”

I blush. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes at him and fall back onto my bed. My bed that’s only an arm’s reach from his.

Baz snorts and starts to unpack his things. I wonder how I’m going to get through the rest of the term.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being around Baz. (Which is still very weird to say, but less so now than it was a week ago.) It’s just that I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him when we’re not fighting constantly and we’re not curled up in his room snogging. And now we don’t have his siblings to come knocking on the door, but we also have Penny, who doesn’t even bother knocking most of the time.

I haven’t figured out how to tell Penny yet. I know I have at some point, but honestly I’m a little scared. Not because I think she’ll judge me, but because I think she’ll try to talk me out of it.

 _“And you think that would work?”_ Baz asked me, when I finally told him about it.

 _“No,”_ I said. _“Of course not. I just don’t think I could take it if she tried.”_

Baz didn’t say anything to that, just squeezed my hand and kissed it. He’s been like that lately, less antagonistic and more sympathetic. It’s kind of sweet, actually, even if it was disconcerting at first.

I close my eyes, and I guess I must be pretty tired (Baz and I were up late packing and snogging) because the next thing I know I’m being jolted awake by the sound of the door closing. The light’s changed in our room, and Baz in standing at the door with platter of sour cherry scones and two full sticks of butter. I sit up abruptly. “You brought me _scones?_ ” I ask incredulously. I have never loved him more than I do in this moment. I don’t say it though, because I haven’t told Baz I love him yet and even I know better than to do it over a plate of cherry scones. (Should I have said it already? Does Baz expect me to say it?) (Surely Not. Surely he already knows.) I file it away in my list of things I should probably think about later and sit up in my bed.

“Bunce is bringing tea,” he says. “No progress on her end either, unfortunately.” He sets the platter down on the desk in the corner of the room.

“You brought me _scones_ ,” I repeat.

Baz rolls his eyes, but I can see he’s trying not to smile. “I brought scones for everyone, Snow. You don’t get to eat them all just because you’re the human equivalent of a vacuum cleaner.”

A protest rises up in my throat, but goes away again as soon as Baz plops a generous slice of butter on a scone and hands it to me. I take a bite out of the scone at the same time as I reach for it with my hand, so Baz is basically half-feeding me when the doorknob turns. He yanks his hand away as Penny comes in, carrying a second platter with a kettle and three teacups on her hip.

“Honestly Basil,” she says sternly. “You could’ve left the door open.” She sets her platter down next to his on the desk and flops down onto Baz’s bed.

Baz just smirks and pours himself a cup of tea, which he drinks with his arms crossed, perched on the very edge of the desk. He looks like he’s posing for the fall edition of a magazine.

“So no luck then?” I ask through a mouthful of scone.

“Ugh,” say Penny and Baz in unison.

“No,” says Penny, “but I think I might have a lead on Lucy Salisbury.”

“The Mage’s girlfriend?” Baz asks. (It’s still so weird to think that the Mage had a girlfriend.)

“Possibly the Mage’s _wife_ ,” says Penny, “or close enough to it. Apparently Lucy never ran off with an American. She ran off with _the Mage._ Like, to some tiny little cottage in the countryside.” She makes a sweeping hand gesture. “I found all these letters from her to my mum, talking about how wonderful her new life was with Davy and the chickens.”

“ _Davy and the chickens_ ,” says Baz. “Sounds like a band.”

Penny snorts. I don’t say anything. As long as I’ve known the Mage, he’s never spoken about Lucy. Never even hinted about her. I guess he may just have been really hurt by her leaving, but something about it doesn’t sit right in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

We brainstorm over tea and scones, but none of us can come up with much more. Penny wants to go looking for the Mage’s old house with Lucy, but Baz points out that if the Mage still lives there and we come knocking then we’re going to have a whole lot more to answer for than he does. They spend a while arguing while I butter some more scones, but eventually they come to the conclusion that running off the day before classes start again is probably not the best way to run a covert operation.

“But I still think we should go,” Penny says over a cup of tea. “Later, when it’s less conspicuous.”

“Less conspicuous, Bunce? Easter holiday isn’t until April.”

“We don’t have to wait for a _holiday,_ we could just go on a weekend.”

I take another bite of scone. I think I would like to see the house at some point, just to have some clue into the Mage’s life, but I figure it’s best to let Baz and Penny sort it out. They actually work really well together, it makes me wonder if I’ve somehow been holding Penny back all these years. Baz is fucking brilliant, as brilliant as she is. Maybe I’m holding _both_ of them back. I finish off my scone and file it away under “things not to think about.”

The final conclusion is that we’ll go on the last day of January, four weeks from now. (Well, four weeks from yesterday.) It’s far enough away that we shouldn’t raise any suspicion but close enough that we won’t be completely wasting our time. Even though Baz thinks investigating Lucy Salisbury _is_ a waste of our time. (Which I suppose is a good thing.) (At least it means he doesn’t blame the Mage, even if the rest of his family seems to.) I agree to the plan, because it seems good enough as any, and Penelope gets up to go meet Agatha.

“You can come with, Simon,” she says. She hesitates. “And Baz too, I suppose.”

Baz snorts. “I doubt Wellbelove wants me to be there.”

Penny gives him a quizzical look.

“I told her I’m not interested,” he says cooly, “and while she may in the habit of making a fool of herself, I highly doubt she’s in the mood to spend an afternoon with me.”

I already know that Baz is gay. I _know_ that. But still. “You told her you’re not interested?” I blurt out.

Baz turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “You know I was only flirting with her to piss you off, Snow.”

“Wait,” says Penny. “You’ve _talked_ about this?” She’s looking at both of us incredulously.

“Obviously,” Baz drawls. “The truce wouldn’t have lasted very long otherwise.”

Penny looks at me, then Baz, then back at me. I shrug. She shakes her head and mutters something about the both of us going completely mental before leaving to go meet Agatha. She closes the door behind her. The sarcasm drops off of Baz’s face the moment the latch clicks.

 

**Baz**

How idiotic can Snow be? Is he _actually_ still jealous over Agatha? After everything? I ask him as much, but he just splutters at me.

“What? No! Iー Baz, of course I’m notー”

I roll my eyes and cut him off. “Then why is this always your go-to reaction? Do you still have _feelings_ for her, orー”

“No,” he says firmly, “I don’t. I don’t know if I did before, or if I didn’t, but I definitely don’t now, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, and Snow lets out a breath.

Tentatively, I sit down on the bed beside him, not quite touching him, but close enough that he could lean into me if he wanted to. He does. I lay my head on top of his, and he loops his (buttery ー gross.) fingers into mine, and we just sit there together in silence.

 

**Penelope**

Things feel weird between Baz and Simon. And not in a working-with-your-sworn-enemy way. Simon barely talked at all throughout our whole debate, not even to take a jab at Baz, and the fact that they’ve actually talked about Agatha? It’s practically unthinkable. (I mean, Simon Snow? Discussing his feelings? And with Baz, no less.) But they seem to be getting along, which is good I suppose, even if it is unnerving.

I meet Agatha out on the lawn outside the Cloisters, where’s she’s already spread out a picnic. I refrained from eating the scones from earlier (Simon ate about twelve ー enough for all three of us) and the little finger sandwiches she’s made look delicious. Agatha’s reading a Normal book, so I sit down next to her and wait for her to bookmark her page.

“No Simon?” she asks by way of greeting. I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed.

“Nope,” I say. “He’s with Baz, in their room.”

Agatha makes a face. “It’s so _weird_ that they’re friends now,” she says.

“Well, I don’t know if they’re friends exactly. They’re on a truce.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know about their truce.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I still think it’s weird that they’re working together. I mean Simon’s spent the past seven and a half years obsessing over Baz’s next plot to kill him, and suddenly they’re just fine? Just like that?”

I don’t say anything, because I don’t have anything _to_ say. Agatha’s right, I think. It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe the truce is just a ruse. Maybe Baz really _is_ plotting something. Sometimes when he looks at Simon, there’s this glint in his eye. This Simon-specific glint. Like he’s the hunter and Simon is his prey. It really freaks me out, but it’s only ever there for a moment, and then he snaps back at something with a biting retort and the look is gone.

“Hello? Earth to Penny,” Agatha says.

I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say, “just thinking about… things.”

“Right,” says Agatha, and I can hear that she’s annoyed, but she doesn’t say so to my face. Instead she picks up a finger sandwich and takes a bite.

“What were you talking about?” I ask. I genuinely am sorry for not paying attention. I think Agatha may be the only person at Watford with fewer friends than me, and I can tell that this whole Simon-Baz thing has really been getting to her.

Agatha finishes her finger sandwich and wipes her mouth delicately with a napkin before replying. “I was wondering if you wanted to see a film next weekend. My mum and I are going, and if you go then maybe she won’t pester me so much about Simon.”

Bringing Simon’s best friend along is hardly going to pivot the conversation away from him, but I don’t say that, because I don’t think that’s really the reason she asked me. I think she’s just lonely. (And she probably misses being a part of the group, even if she did leave of her own accord.) So instead I say, “Of course! I’d love to go.”

Agatha’s whole face lights up. I don’t know if it’s sweet or sad.

 

**Simon**

I don’t know which of us started it. Maybe it was me nuzzling into his neck, or maybe it was Baz drumming his fingers on my knee. (Let’s face it, it was probably me, but Baz is the one who pushed me over afterwards.) What I _do_ know is that Baz has been lying on top of me for what feels like hours, kissing every part of me he can reach. I think he’s given me about a dozen hickeys. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that, but before he’s always made them where nobody could see. Now I’m not sure he’s being so careful. And what would that mean, to be visibly marked by him? Penny would notice, for sure, and she’d probably have questions, but I don’t think I care about that right now. Not when Baz’s lips are peppering kisses along my jaw, leaving my skin tingling and making my heart flutter ridiculously. A laugh bubbles up in my throat and Baz pulls back to look at me.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I can feel my mouth spread wide in a grin.

Baz rolls his eyes and give me a small smile of his own before pulling me into another kiss. His lips are soft on mine, and gentle. Not at all what I would’ve expected just a few weeks ago. (Not that I would have expected any of this a few weeks ago.) I pull away to nuzzle the side of his face and take a small breath. Penny’s right, Baz does smell like cedar and bergamot. I don’t even know what bergamot is, but it sounds posh and that’s how he smells. (The other day Baz joked that I smell like hospital, because I always use the school soap. I hit him in the face with his pillow, and he laughed.)

Now Baz curls up against me, burying his face in my neck. I wrap my arms around him and shift my legs so that he’s stretched out in between them. Our shoes are on the floor somewhere (we kicked them off when we started snogging), and he’s wearing these ridiculous grey socks with tiny Christmas trees on them. It’s actually kind of adorable.

I don’t know how long we stay there for. It’s probably awhile. Baz falls asleep at some point. I can hear his breathing change, growing longer and deeper. He makes little murmuring noises in his sleep. I tease him about it sometimes. I’ve heard them for the past seven and a half years, and I’ve only just realized that I love them. I love them. I love _him._ I should probably tell him that.

Baz hasn’t said anything about loving me. He did say that he’s wanted me probably forever, and that he’s known he wanted me since fifth year, but he hasn’t said _anything_ about loving me. Maybe he’s afraid to. (Except it _cannot_ be that because there’s no way that Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is afraid to tell _me_ that he loves me.) Maybe he doesn’t think he needs to tell me, or maybe he has already and I just wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe he doesn’t actually love me, maybe he just likes… this. Which is fine. If he doesn’t love me. (That’s what I keep telling myself, at least. That it’s fine.) I mean, he still _likes_ me, right?. I _think_ he does. I know he likes being my boyfriend. But didn’t I like being Agatha’s boyfriend? _Things not to think about._ The list keeps getting longer and longer.

Maybe I should just appreciate what’s happening right now. There are no dark creatures, no Humdrum, no sudden quests from the Mage. Everything is still and quiet, and Baz is snoring softly into my shoulder. I stroke the back of his head (his hair is unbelievably soft) and he murmurs in his sleep and nuzzles in closer. I smile a little, enjoying the moment.

We’ll make it work. We have to.

Because I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.


	2. Trouble in Paradise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their first dinner back at Watford and you can bet it's difficult for our favorite four to adapt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, just a little bit of my plot.  
> Please let me know what you like and what you don't! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Thank you so much to all the people who left comments and kudos on Chapter 1! This is the fastest people have ever responded to my work and I’m really excited! I also have no idea what the comment etiquette is so I think I thanked most of you individually. I’m just so excited to see how many people like the story!
> 
> Lolzer asked in the comments about a chapter schedule, so here you go:  
> I will be trying to update every other day for the rest of the summer. I’m not sure how long this fic will be, or if I’ll still be writing it once school starts up again, but I’ll do my best to stick to the schedule. I have a couple chapters pre-written now so I should be able to keep up. I’m really excited to see where this goes!
> 
> Edit: I just realized I never put the chapter title in so here you go

**Baz**

I don’t sit with them at dinner. I don’t know if I’m even supposed to. I don’t know  _ what _ I’m supposed to do now; I’m dating Simon Snow and the whole bloody world’s turned upside down. Dev and Niall make room for me at our usual table. We haven’t seen each other since last term, but I barely speak to them the whole meal. It’s not as if I can catch them up on what I’ve been doing.  _ What’ve you been up to, Baz? Oh, nothing much. My sworn enemy and his best friend are helping me avenge my mother’s death. Also I’m snogging one of them, and it’s not the girl. _ Besides, Dev and Niall have spent so many years with me plotting (Yes,  _ plotting _ . I’m sure Snow would have a field day hearing me admit it.) how to take Snow out that they’d probably think all this was a plot, too.

My dad still thinks it’s a plot.

Not that I’ve talked to him about it.

It was after New Year’s that he finally asked me why Simon was still staying in our house.

_ “I told you dad, there’s a school project. Besides, he hasn’t got anywhere else to stay.” _

_ “He’s got the Mage, hasn’t he? Merlin and Morgana, Basil, he  _ is _ your enemy. He’d probably jump at the chance to take you out in your own home.” _

I snorted at that, and he must’ve thought I was being dismissive, but how was I supposed to explain that Simon “taking me out” was much more of a possibility than he realized? So I just rolled my eyes and said that I had it under control, and we haven’t talked about it since.

I catch Snow pouting at me from across the room. He has no reason to be. He’s got Bunce, after all, and Wellbelove is sitting with them again. She glances up to see where Simon’s looking and sees me. I can practically feel her annoyance from across the room. She says something to Simon, and he turns to her. I return to my meal.

“Trouble in paradise?”

I look up to see both Dev and Niall looking at me suggestively. “Hmm?” I reply.

“Agatha,” says Dev. “No moon-eyes from her tonight.”

I snort. “If you think Wellbelove is  _ paradise… _ ”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“What?” I ask irritably. I’m not in the mood to talk about my nonexistent chemistry with Wellbelove right now.

Dev and Niall  share a knowing look (Have they been  _ talking _ about this?), and Dev clears his throat. “It’s just, uh… Well, Baz…” He looks at Niall.

“It’s Year Eight, Baz,” Niall says. “Kind of late in the game to be turning down relationships, isn’t it?”

I take a bite of my food so I don’t have to respond right away. I’ve never been in a relationship before. Of any kind. Not even those cheesy little kid ones where you write notes to each other and then run away. Dev and Niall teased me about it once, in fifth year, at the height of my Snow ordeal. I didn’t talk to either of them for a week straight. They never brought it up again. Until now, that is.

What am I supposed to say? That maybe they would be right, if I weren’t hopelessly queer  _ and _ hopelessly in love? That actually I’m just fine thanks, because I just spent the last four hours curled up in Snow’s arms? Of course not. But I have to tell them  _ something _ . I swallow my food and wipe my mouth. “I’m seeing someone,” I say, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. (And maybe it would be, to anyone else.)

Both of their eyebrows shoot up. “Who?” asks Dev at the same time as Niall says, “Do we know her?”

“I doubt it,” I lie. “She doesn’t go to Watford. And she’s nothing like Wellbelove.”

I can’t tell if they believe me or not, but they don’t press for more details. They’re good like that, almost always know when to stop pushing. Even when it comes to my apparently shocking new love life.

 

**Simon**

I know it’s pathetic to mope, I know it, but I can’t help but feel a little disappointed when Baz doesn’t sit with us at dinner. He didn’t even walk down with me, just climbed up out of my arms and left while I was using the bathroom. I try not to feel like nothing’s changed, like we’re exactly where we were two weeks ago, but it’s difficult. I try to catch his eye from across the room, and I manage it for a second, but then his eyes flick off to the side, to where Agatha is sitting across from me.

“Simon, what are you doing?” she asks. She’s decided to sit with us again, even if she wants nothing to do with our investigation. I know it’s mean, but part of me wishes she were Baz, though it is nice to be on speaking terms with her again. I turn back to Agatha, letting Baz return to his friends.

“Nothing,” I say lightly. Penny snorts.

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Simon,” she says. “You were staring at Baz. Again.”

“Again?”

“Honestly Simon, aren’t you supposed to be on a truce?” Agatha looks exasperated, and I guess she has a right to be. I mean, most love triangles (if that’s what we were before) don’t end like this. They don’t end with the two blokes getting together in secret and completely ignoring the dreamgirl. And Agatha doesn’t even know.

As much as I’m worried about telling Penny, I think I’m more scared about telling Agatha. What if she thinks this is just some elaborate scheme to get back at her?  _ You’re not even gay, Simon. _ And I’d have nothing to say to that. Because I don’t even know if I am gay.  _ Maybe _ I’m gay. Or maybe I’m bi. Or maybe I just really like Baz.

“Simon!”

“What?” I ask.

Agatha is glaring at me. She sounds actually pissed off. “Don’t either of you two  _ ever _ listen?” she asks.

I don't say anything. I don’t know what to say. After a moment, Agatha huffs and stands up, taking her plate with her.

“Where are you going?” Penny asks.

Agatha ignores her and storms away.

I turn to Penelope. “Did something happen this afternoon?”

Penny shrugs. She looks kinda sad. “I think she’s just lonely, Simon.”

 

**Agatha**

I’m not lonely, I’m angry. I’m angry at Simon and Penny for being so close. I’m angry at Baz for being a complete bastard  _ and _ Simon’s sworn enemy  _ and _ still being a closer friend to him than I am. I’m angry at all three of them for refusing to tell the Mage about their ridiculous investigation. I’m angry at myself because surely there must be something wrong with me, surely it must be on my end, if Baz freaking Pitch can make friends with Simon and I’m still just an extra in his melodrama.

And I guess I’m a little lonely.

I take my dinner up to my room. I was an idiot for thinking that I could just eat dinner with them, that I could just talk to them like everything was normal. 

Penelope feels bad for me. I could see it in her eyes yesterday, when we were making plans for the film. At first I thought she was going because she wanted too, but I figured out pretty quickly that she’s only going because she thinks I miss hanging out with them. Which I do, but I don’t want her being friends with me out of pity. It’s bad enough that Simon basically ignores my existence and that these days I should consider myself lucky to get a sneer from Baz, much less a word. Neither of them have spoken to me since Penelope made me drive all the way out to the Pitch’s house just to rope me into their scheme. Simon texted me once ー or rather, Simon texted  _ Penny _ once ー to tell me that he was all right after he basically launched himself out of a moving vehicle. Other than that, nothing.

I’m so sick of Simon acting like this. He’s always been impulsive, but I thought he’d grow out of it eventually. Except so far he hasn’t, and it’s only getting worse. He spent  _ two whole weeks _ at Baz’s house, even after I invited him. He didn’t even come to Penny’s house for New Year’s. We spent practically the whole night waiting for him, until Baz texted Penny to tell her that neither of them were coming.

So Penny thinks I’m pathetic, Simon thinks I’m not worth his time, Baz thinks I’m the scum of the earth, and…

And I think Simon might like Baz.

Or maybe Baz likes Simon.

It would make sense, wouldn’t it? In all these years the only thing Simon’s been really, truly obsessed about is Baz, and the only thing Baz has been obsessed about is Simon. They’re around each other constantly. They  _ talk _ about each other constantly. That day in the courtyard, Baz said that he wasn’t interesting, he was just wrong for me. And I just assumed he was being a prick, because he certainly hadn’t been polite for any other part of the conversation, but at the same time… 

Baz has never had a girlfriend, not as long as he’s been at Watford.

And Simon skipped Christmas to be with him.

 

**Baz**

Snow waylays me the moment I get back to our room.

“Why didn’t you sit with us?” he asks. He’s still in his uniform, even though I saw him leave the dining hall about twenty minutes ago, and there’s gravy on his sleeve from the mashed potatoes.

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Miss me, did you?” I ask cooly. He huffs, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m serious, Baz,” he says. “You didn’t sit with us, you barely even  _ looked  _ at me for all of dinner. Crowley’s sake, you left while I was in the  _ bathroom _ like I was some bad one-night stand!”

“A two-week long one-night stand? Honestly, Snow.” I scoff. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me to sit with you?”

Snow tugs at his own hair, his voice rising. “Christ, Baz. Of  _ course _ I wanted you to sit with me.”

“Have you even told Bunce yet?” I snap. He just stares at me, the absolute twit. “Then that’s why I didn’t sit with you.” I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto my bed and try to pretend I’m not sulking.

A few moments later, Simon comes shuffling over. He sits down on the edge of my bed. I roll away from him. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, Baz.”

I say nothing.

Simon sighs again and reaches out to touch my arm. His touch is so gentle that I practically melt into him. “I really am sorry, all right? I’ll tell Penny, I promise.”

Now it’s my turn to sigh as I roll back to face him. I try to ignore his thumb tracing circles around my elbow. “You don’t have to tell her,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t know where I stand with you. I feel like we were just starting to figure that out, and then…” And then we came back to Watford, where Simon’s the bloody Chosen One and I’m his mortal enemy.

Except I don’t have to say that to Simon, because he already knows it.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, and I let myself drown in it. In him. Then he pulls away far too soon and announces that he’s taking a shower. I roll my eyes, but there’s no malice in it this time. Simon gathers up his pyjamas and heads into the bathroom. I close my eyes as the door clicks shut behind him and I try to imagine a world where the two of us can just live normally.

 

**Simon**

It’s weird not sharing a bed with Baz. (It’s also weird that it’s weird to not share a bed with Baz, but that’s hard enough to say, much less to think about right now.) By the time I got out of the shower, Baz was already in bed in his pyjamas, and I felt too awkward to ask if I should join him, so now I’m just lying here silently while he reads, not knowing what to do or what to say. Eventually he puts his book down and magicks out the lights. (Which is a total waste of magic, but he’s powerful enough.) (Baz says he can count on one hand the number of times he’s used a lightswitch in the past ten years. I can’t tell if he’s lying.) With the lights off, I have half an urge to reach out across our beds and touch him. Just to make sure he’s still there. I opt for the less-creepy option.

“Goodnight, Baz,” I say quietly.

There’s a pause. I wonder if he’s heard me.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, and I feel my cheeks go warm.

 

I jolt awake in the middle of the night. At first I think I must have been having a nightmare, but I don’t  _ remember _ having a nightmare, not even the tail end of one. Then I hear Baz thrashing about on his bed, and I realize  _ he _ must be having a nightmare. Without really thinking about it, I get up out of bed. The floor is wet. It looks like Baz knocked over his water glass, which is probably what woke me up. I’d cast a cleaning spell, but I’m more likely to vanish the whole bedside table if I do, so I leave it be.

I tiptoe over to Baz’s bed, careful not to step on any broken glass, and crawl in next to him. I’ve seen him have nightmares before, but not since last term. (I know it’s not because we’ve been sharing a bed, but some part of me likes to indulge in the theory.) I hold his shoulder gently in place, so he has to stop thrashing, and push his hair up out of his face.

“It’s all right, Baz,” I say softly. “You’re all right. You’re just dreaming.”

His eyes flash open. For a moment he looks terrified. Then he looks confused. Then he closes his eyes with a sigh and relaxes, falling onto his back with his arms over his face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs into his elbow.

“S’all right,” I say.

We sit there for a second.

“Do you want me to go?”

He shakes his head.

I lay down slowly next to Baz and wrap my arms around him. He cuddles in close to me and buries his face in my neck. He does that a lot. At first I thought it was a vampire thing but now I’m pretty sure it’s just a comfort thing. I rub his back in small circles, and he makes a little appreciative noise.

Baz falls asleep like that, for the second time today, all wrapped up in my arms. I stay awake for a few hours, listening to his breathing, making sure it’s still calm and steady. Baz’s perpetually cold skin keeps me from overheating, even under the ridiculous amount of blankets.

Except he’s not asleep, apparently, because just when my eyelids are starting to fall I hear a quiet voice.

“Simon?” he whispers, so softly that at first I think I’ve imagined it.

“Yeah?” I whisper back.

“I love you.”

My cheeks flush. “I love you, too,” I murmur. Baz hums softly.

And that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Again, thank you so much to the people who read and liked chapter one! If there's anything you'd like to see in the future just let me know and I'll see what fits into the plot!


	3. Proper Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some shorter clips to catch up with everyone on their first day of classes. (The fic is about the same length as usual, it just switches perspective more often.) (There’s also a longer bit near the end because I have no self-control.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, just a little bit of my plot.  
> Please let me know what you like and what you don't! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> AAAH OH MY GOD okay. So I’ve gotten so many comments that I don’t even know how to respond to them all without sounding like ingenuine and monotonous so I’m going to start just having a little banner here that says THANK YOU to everyone who likes this story and leaves kudos and comments. It really makes my day, and I’m just so happy that you all are enjoying it. I’m going to try to only respond to comments that have questions in them because it’s really distracting me and I’m worried that leaving a bunch of replies that just say the same thing makes me sound like I’m trying too hard. (I’m also pretty sure that this whole paragraph makes me sound like I’m trying too hard but there ya go.) I’m not trying to ignore anybody, and I really do read and appreciate all of the comments, but I’ve also spent about fifteen minutes now just quietly freaking out over them instead of finishing Chapter 4, so here you go:
> 
> Thank you to all of you guys. I love reading your comments and hearing what you liked about the chapter. I wasn’t sure about writing a multichapter fic, because I’ve never written one before and I’ve never written for Carry On either, so hearing how much you guys love it just makes me really happy.
> 
> Thank you!!!
> 
> Edit: Fixed the spelling of the chapter title. (Why is it always the chapter titles?)

**Baz**

I wake up in the morning tangled up in Snow, which is becoming so regular of an occurrence that I hardly even notice it today. I remove myself as carefully as I can and manage not to wake him. (It isn’t that difficult; he sleeps like a rock.) The moment I stand up, the water on the floor soaks through my socks, and then I remember what Snow was doing in my bed in the first place.

I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, specifically, but I know that there was fire, and I think that Snow was there. I must have knocked my water glass over in the middle of it (which is probably what woke Snow up), because now it’s shattered in the middle of a massive puddle on the floor. I cast  **into thin air** and the whole mess vanishes.

I let Snow sleep as I get my Watford uniform from the dresser and bring it into the bathroom. I suppose he wouldn’t mind me changing in front of him now, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that level of casual vulnerability just yet. So I set my clothes down on the hamper, turn on the shower, and wait for the water to get warm.

That’s when it hits me.

_ I told Simon Snow I love him. _

I told Simon Snow I love him,  _ and he said it back. _

I guess we’re proper boyfriends now.

I don’t know how to stop smiling.

 

**Simon**

I wake up to feeling of someone pecking me on the cheek. I roll over dazedly to see Baz kneeling on the floor next to his bed (the one I’m currently sleeping in), grinning like an idiot. Which Baz never does. His hair is wet and slicked back like he’s just taken a shower, and he’s wearing his Watford uniform with his tie hanging loose around his neck.

“Morning,” he says brightly.

“Morning,” I murmur.

Baz’s mouth twists a little, and he’s still grinning, and I can tell he’s about to say something, but he pauses first to stare at my face. I must look a mess, but the way he’s taking me in right now makes me blush.

“What, Baz?” I ask groggily.

“I love you.”

And then I remember last night. I feel myself grinning with him (we must look a pair of proper idiots) as his words sink in. “I love you, too,” I say, and he smiles even wider, if possible.

Then he hops to his feet, and I groan because he is being an obnoxious morning person all of a sudden and I am most certainly not. (Which is bloody ironic, all things considered.) “Come on, Snow,” he says brightly. “You wouldn’t want to miss the scones, would you?”

In the end I don’t know if it’s Baz or the scones I get up for. (I’d like to say it’s Baz, but Cook Pritchard is a miracle worker.)

Baz actually sits with us at breakfast today. (Agatha doesn’t, though. I wonder if she’s done with us for good this time.) Penny looks mildly surprised to see him, but she carries on like it’s perfectly normal.

Baz’s friends, however, are somewhat less accepting.

 

**Baz**

“What?” Niall squawks. No “hello,” no “good morning,” just wanders up to the table like he’s just had a Visiting and demands an explanation for the seating arrangement. Dev is hovering behind him with a look on his face like I’ve gone completely mental.

“All right, gentlemen?” I say. 

“ _ What _ ?” says Niall again. So far that’s all he’s said to me.

I give them both a smile and a wink. “School project,” I say, like it’s some kind of secret.

Niall stares at me for a moment, then turns to Dev, who shrugs. They look like a pair of numpties trying to solve a crossword puzzle.

“...Right,” Niall says finally. “Morning, Baz.” The pair of them walk slowly over to our usual table, glancing back at me every few seconds like they think I might explode.

I turn back to Snow, who’s got his eyebrows raised, and Bunce, who’s laughing quietly into her napkin.

“School project?” she asks.

“It’s what I told my parents.”

Bunce snorts. “Mine too, but aren’t Dev and Niall in most of your classes?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Maybe they’ll think it’s a secret mission from the Old Families.”

“Do you get those?” Simon asks incredulously. “Secret missions?”

I roll my eyes. “No, you oaf, but they don’t need to know that.”

Dev and Niall don’t need to know about our ongoing investigation. And they most certainly don’t need to know why I’m suddenly eating with Simon Snow.

Or why I can’t seem to stop smiling.

 

**Niall**

Baz may be a lunatic and a proper git besides, but there is no way in hell he’s helping Simon Snow with schoolwork. Which leaves us with two options: Either Baz finally got his mission from the Families, or he’s trying to make Simon look like a twit. (Or he’s trying to make us look like twits. Three options.) Or maybe he thinks Simon knows something about what happened to him. Four options.

Last term at Watford was properly fucked. First Baz didn’t show up, then all us from the Old Families started getting letters from home:  _ Basilton Grimm-Pitch was kidnapped in London. The Mage is raiding our homes. The Humdrum is at large, and we are at war. _ About half the Old Family kids, especially the littluns, got pulled from Watford. Most of our parents just don’t think it’s safe here anymore, not with the Mage running things. After all, if the Mage can come after the Pitches, none of us are bloody safe. We spent about two months thinking Baz had to be dead, because our fucking families wouldn’t say anything except that he was gone, and then the bloody bugger just  **open sesame** s the door and waltzes right in like nothing’s happened.

And of course me and Dev have to  _ act _ like nothing’s happened, because if we don’t then it looks like the Mage actually got to us, and we cannot let the Mage know he got to us. Because  _ we are at war _ .

A war that Baz is fighting over the bloody breakfast table.

 

**Agatha**

I don’t think any of them have spotted me yet. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to sit with them today, that I would just take my breakfast up to my room, but then I decided that was silly and I could at least stand to spend  _ breakfast _ with Simon and Penelope. Except that now Baz is eating with them, and I don’t think I can take all three of them at once just yet, so I grab some eggs and some of those god-forsaken scones and head back to the Cloisters.

The scones really are quite good, it’s just that you can never say so around Simon or he’ll end up writing you a sonnet about them. I don’t think Simon even talked about  _ me _ as much as he talks about those damn scones.

He certainly talks about Baz.

I wonder if Penelope’s figured it out yet. That they’re… whatever they are. The more I thought about it yesterday the more it seemed to make sense. And it’s a good thing, right? If he does fancy Baz? At least then nobody can blame me. At least then it isn’t my fault that things didn’t work out with Simon.

I don’t think Penny knows. That’s one thing I have on her, at least. When Simon and Baz announce their engagement, I’ll probably be the least surprised.

 

**Penelope**

It’s good to be back in class, even if it means we have less time to focus on the investigation. I think Baz is glad to be back as well. He’d never admit it, but he’s been oddly cheerful all day. He even sat with us at breakfast. Are he and Simon friends now? I think they might be. I mean, Simon skipped out on Christmas at Agatha’s and on New Year’s at my house. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t be welcome? But if he wanted to feel welcome then why would he stay with the Pitches? (The Grimms, I suppose, but close enough.) But Simon is pretty cheerful today too, and it’s easier to work when he and Baz aren’t antagonizing each other, so I suppose I’ll just leave it alone.

I’m still worried about Agatha, even if I do think she’s being a little immature. She talks to me in class, but she won’t speak to Simon at all. (She won’t speak to Baz either, but I suppose they were never close.) And yes, Simon did ignore her a bit, but she’d just disinvited him from Christmas, so it’s not like they were in great shape to begin with. Half of me wants to just sit them down in a room until they’re friends again, and half of me can’t believe they aren’t able to sort this out themselves.

I hope they figure things out. Not as a couple, Crowley no, but I hope they can figure out how to be friends again.

Truth be told, I’m starting to miss eating with Agatha.

 

**Baz**

I don’t get to be around Snow nearly as much as I’d like to be. After my little stunt at breakfast, Dev and Niall have been hovering strangely, like they’re afraid I might go off like Snow. And maybe I have gone a bit daft over the past two weeks, but I don’t care. Because I’ve spent nearly eight years agonizing over Simon Snow, and  _ ant _ agonizing him for it, and somehow despite all that the git actually fell for  _ me. _

I never thought I’d have a boyfriend.

I didn’t even  _ know _ I was gay until about halfway through fifth year.

I mean, I’m sure some part of me had noticed, but I’d always just ignored it. I thought it would go away, that I would just grow out of it or something. I had crushes, those little kid kinds of crushes, but they were easy enough to ignore. And then Simon fucking Snow happened, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was fifth year that I finally admitted it to myself, because it was fifth year that I finally admitted it to Fiona. She picked me up from Watford for dinner one weekend, and everything with Simon had just been  _ so bad _ that week that I broke down in the car and told her. (That I was gay, not that I was in love with Simon.) (I figure  _ that _ bit would’ve sent her into anaphylactic shock.)

The summer after that I told my dad, and we fought about it until dinnertime, and then we never spoke of it again. I don’t even know if any of my siblings know. I think Daphne does, but she’s never talked to me about it. Fiona’s the only one who treats it like it’s normal. (She’s also the only one who’ll admit that I’m a vampire, pretty much ever.) (Even though she doesn’t like to.) But even Fiona said that I probably shouldn’t let on to the families that I’m queer. I think she knows that some of them are a little bigoted (there’s really no denying it) and she doesn’t want to see me hurt. Either way, I wouldn’t have said anything. I don’t need to air out my personal life for all the world to see. Dev and Niall don’t know about it, nor does anyone else outside of my immediate family. (Except Simon, obviously.)

Fucking Simon.

I don’t even care if he’s gay or not. Out of everything Snow-related in my life, that’s probably what I care about the least. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous sometimes of little he cares, of how little he has to worry. And I  _ know _ that’s not fair, that  _ I’m _ not being fair, because he hasn’t got a family and I do, and because he has the fate of the whole bloody world on his shoulders and I don’t.

I just wish that I didn’t have to care so much.

 

**Simon**

I catch Baz moping out in the hall between classes, which wouldn’t usually be that weird, except that he’s been so happy all day, and now I’m worried. Did something go wrong? What could possibly have gone wrong in the past two hours?

We spend all of Elocution not talking to each other, because everyone else in the class would think it was the first sign of the apocalypse if we did, but I do catch his eyes once and he gives me a little smirk like everything’s fine. I’m not convinced, though, so I keep watching throughout the rest of the class. And the next one. And the periods in between. It takes a while for me to realize that I’m basically stalking him like we’re in fifth year again. Then we finally have a class apart, and I still spend the whole time thinking about Baz. (Is he okay?) (He’s probably fine.) (He’s usually a pretty sulky person, right?) (Probably nothing happened.) (Probably.)

Baz is leaning against the wall in the hallway when class lets out. We make eye contact for a moment and he turns and starts walking away. I follow. It takes a lot of pushing, but eventually we make it to an empty classroom in a mostly empty hallway. Baz is already leaning against a table when I get there, arms crossed in front of him.

“What is it?” he asks as I shut the door behind us.

I stare at him blankly.

Baz rolls his eyes. “You’ve been staring at me, Snow. All bloody day. I haven’t been able to concentrate.”

I blush at that. “You, um…” I clear my throat. “You looked sad.”

Now that I’ve said it, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. Baz stares at me for a moment as if I’ve completely lost my mind, and then a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You’re  _ worried _ about me?” he asks incredulously.

“Just a little.”

Baz quirks his eyebrow at me. I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs. Then he straightens up and walks over to me. I feel myself blushing even worse as he backs me up against the door and kisses me. He’s getting properly good at this. Not that he wasn’t before, but I was a little shocked that first week when (for all of Baz’s domineering nature) I was always the one to make the first move. Part of me is a little indignant that he’s just snogging me against a door like this, but most of me really doesn’t mind. Baz pulls back after a minute and rests his forehead against mine.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I mumble.

“What question?”

I’d blush at that, if my cheeks hadn’t already reached maximum redness. “Why were you upset earlier?” I ask meekly.

Baz’s expression shifts a little, but he doesn’t pull away. “It’s nothing, really,” he says. He sounds tired. “I was just thinking about how I’m going to tell my parents about you.”

“I think your dad already suspects, Baz.”

He snorts. “If my dad suspected, he’d never have let you stay in our  _ house, _ much less my room.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek and straightens up. “Come on, Snow, we’re going to be late for tea. You don’t want to miss your scones.”

 

**Baz**

Snow is so fucking endearing it’s a wonder I managed to keep my hands off him for seven years. It’s a testament to my work ethic I can do anything at all in my afternoon classes, because all I can think about is him  _ worrying _ about me all morning. It’s completely pathetic, and I don’t care. I’ve spent so much time pining after him, I can hardly believe Snow thinks about me even half as much as I think about him.

It’s a relief when classes are finally over and I can go back up to our room. Snow is there already. He hasn’t bothered to fix his hair since I snogged him again after lunch (because I have no shame, and because he actually let me), so it’s sticking up strangely in back. I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his stomach. He leans back against me, and his ridiculous hair tickles my nose.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Crowley’s sake, Snow, it’s only been three hours.” But I say it softly, because I missed him a little too.

I lean down to kiss the mole on his neck, and then he cranes his head around to kiss me properly, and pretty soon he’s got me pinned down in his bed and we’re snogging. (For the third time today. I’m a bloody addict.) We stay like that for hours, which has actually become quite standard for us. I don’t know how this became my life, but I certainly don’t mind it.

 

**Simon**

Baz and I are late to dinner, which earns us a weird look from Penny. We would’ve been on time, except that Baz had to glamour my neck, because he gave me a pretty terrible hickey that was not at all concealed by my shirt collar. I glowered at him for it, but he just laughed and cast  **nothing to see here** , which I didn’t even know you could use for hickeys.

Penelope’s all alone at the table. I guess Agatha’s gone back to eating by herself. It actually kind of sucks that she wants nothing to do with us now. I mean, I don’t want to  _ date _ her anymore, but that doesn’t mean I never want to speak to her again.

It looks like Penny’s been going through old copies of  _ The Record _ . There are all kinds of papers piles around her in a circle, and she’s scribbling things in a notebook in her lap. I doubt she’ll find anything in  _ The Record _ that we haven’t already, but I know there’s no use telling her that. The best leads we have are Nicodemus and the numpties ( _ “Another great band name in the making,” _ Baz would say), and neither of them are particularly inclined to help us in our investigation.

Penny clears some of her papers out of the way when she sees us walking over.

“Find anything?” Baz asks, sliding in next to her.

Penny shakes her head and closes her notebook. “Nothing,” she says. “Absolutely nothing.”

I sit down next to Baz and start loading up my plate. Baz glances at me and snorts.

“Really, Snow?”

“It’s dinner! I’m hungry!”

Baz rolls his eyes. Penny looks at us strangely, which is weird, because isn’t it normal for us to be fighting? And then I realize: Baz hasn’t said anything actually malicious to me all day. I mean, he hasn’t really said anything malicious in the past two weeks either, except obviously Penelope doesn’t know he hasn’t. Or  _ why _ he hasn’t. I take a bite of my food to cover up the fact that I’m blushing. After a moment, Penny looks away.

The three of us chat for a while, go over What We Know and What We Still Don’t. The second list is painfully longer than the first, but none of us acknowledge it. Then Penny goes silent and it’s just Baz and I talking until I notice she’s been staring at the faculty table.

“Simon,” Penny says, without looking back at us.

Baz pauses mid-sentence.

“Is it just me,” she asks slowly, “or is it weird that the Mage isn’t here?”

 


	4. A Thousand Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penelope isn’t blind + a pinch of Mage and a dash of light (very light) hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, just a little bit of my plot.  
> Please let me know what you like and what you don't! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> The whole Mage thing is my attempt at explaining why the events of “book four” didn’t happen in this canon divergence (kidnapping Ebb, stealing power, etc). I apologize in advance for my inability to write tension.
> 
> The verb conjugation bit is something I talk about to my friends (yes, I have casual conversations about verb tenses because linguistics are cool okay), so apologies if it makes no sense.
> 
> This chapter actually turned out a bit longer than I was expecting. I’m just gonna make an executive decision that it’s a good thing.
> 
> Question for you guys: Chapter 5 is looking to be a little bit smutty, the way I’m writing it currently. It’s nothing major, because these two are both such absolute virgins, but is that something you guys would want to see? If not I can publish as a separate story, but I want to read your opinions first.

**The Mage**

Someone must know. There has to be  _ something _ . Something I’ve missed, something small.

I’ve looked through every book at Watford, every tome in the Coven library, every forbidden text we’ve confiscated from our searches. Nothing. Not one word on how to fix it. Fix  _ him. _

I lost everything for him,  _ sacrificed _ it, for the greater good. For the Greatest Mage.

He cannot be broken. He cannot be irreparable.

Because that would mean I killed her.

And I cannot have killed her.

 

**Penelope**

I really shouldn’t have said anything. Yes, it is weird that the Mage ran off without telling anyone, but it’s certainly not anything he hasn’t done before, and now Simon won’t let it go. This morning Miss Possibelf said the Mage was away on official Coven business, and then Simon did that puppy-dog thing and she caved and said that the Mage mentioned something about hunting the Humdrum. This invariably led to a three-hour whispered discussion in class, at the end of which Baz turned around in his seat and hissed that  _ “For the last time, Simon, I am not skipping classes to chase after the bloody Mage.” _

Simon spent the rest of the morning moping. It isn’t until lunch a few hours later that I realize that Baz called him  _ Simon, _ but by that point I think it’s probably nothing. It must be nothing, right? A thought pops into my head, an absolutely deranged one, and I quickly dismiss it. Because it’s impossible. Like actually, physically impossible. I put it out of my head.

Anyway, the whole situation is driving Simon mental to the point where  _ I  _ can’t stand to be in the same room as him, so I leave him with Baz and head over to the Cloisters to find Agatha. She can be mad at Simon all she wants, but I’ll be damned if she rids herself of me that easily.

Agatha’s got her whole room to herself, ever since Baz stole her roommate’s voice in fifth year. (I still have no idea how he did it, but Simon swears it was him, and I don’t know how  _ else _ Philippa could’ve lost her voice so quickly.) I can’t help but feel insanely jealous. Nicks and Slick, if I have to spend one more minute with Trixie and Keris  _ snogging _ in Trixie’s bed  _ three feet away from me _ , I’m going to scream.

I knock lightly on Agatha’s door.

“Who is it?” she calls.

“Penny,” I reply.

There’s a pause. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me? But thenー

“Come in then,” she says. “It’s not locked.”

Agatha’s room is quite lovely, actually. She keeps everything all neat and tidy and there are pictures of her and her Normal friends on the wall. The windows have these lace curtains on them so sun shines through  _ just _ enough to warm up the room without hurting your eyes. It even smells nice in here, like vanilla and cinnamon. No wonder Agatha spends all her time here.

“Hiya Penny,” says Agatha. She’s sitting at her desk, finishing the Latin homework for tomorrow.

“Hiya,” I say, sitting down on Philippa’s old bed. It’s been pushed to the corner of the room, and it’s covered in throw pillows and a decorative quilt so it looks more like a couch than an actual bed.

Agatha glances over at me. “You can hang out if you want, but I’m not helping with your insane investigation.”

“Fair enough,” I say.

She puts down her pencil and turns sideways in her chair to face me, folding one of her legs delicately underneath her. “Well?” she asks.

“Well what?”

“Well, why are you here? You never do anything without a purpose, Penny.”

“Also fair,” I say. (She gives me an exasperated snort.) “Really, Agatha, I’m just here to chat. Simon’s being his usual mad self, and I’ve got no one to share it with but Baz.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at that, but she does get up and sit down next to me. She pulls her legs up and crosses them in front of her, and she’s obviously waiting for me to start, so I do.

It’s good to know we’re still friends, then.

 

**Baz**

I think Snow’s really lost it this time. Even  _ Bunce _ can’t deal with him anymore, announced she was getting some air and shut the door behind her. Now Snow’s on a rant, which is really more of a ramble, because all he can get out are a bunch of jumbled sentence fragments that don’t make much sense unless you already know what he’s thinking. We’re sitting on his bed, too, which means that I can feel the magickal sparks flying off him as he gets all worked up. Part of me can’t believe that  _ this _ is the idiot who’s been plotting my downfall for the past seven years. The other part of me, the part I’m listening to right now, is making sure I stay calm and understanding, because that’s my job now. I’m the boyfriend. (Though I do push back a little when he suggests we go barrelling after the Mage for about the hundredth time today.)

“If the Mage couldn’t handle himself then he wouldn’t have gone alone, Snow.”

“Butー”

“If the  _ Mage _ can’t handle it then there’s no way  _ we _ can help.”

_ That _ one shuts him up. Snow idolizes the Mage. Even when he’s angry with him. (It’s a little infuriating usually, but right now it’s rather useful.) (Because really, what use would our disastrous trio be against whatever that lunatic’s off fighting?)

But then all of those thoughts just disappear, because I look at Snow, and Snow looks down, and his expression right now makes my heart want to break.

“I just want to be  _ useful, _ ” he says quietly. “I just want to be a partner, an ally. A sidekick, even.” He puts his head in his hands “I’m so tired of being a bomb.”

And Aleister Crowley, I could  _ kill _ the Mage. “Simon,” I say, taking his hands, making him look at me, “you are  _ not _ a bomb. You’re a human being. One of my favorites, actually.” That one earns me a small smile. I cover both his hands with mine and press a kiss to them. “The Mage ran off without you because he’s an absent-minded git,” I say, “not because he doesn’t need you.” And that’s true, I think, though if I were talking to anyone else I’d have said that the Mage is a selfish old bastard who couldn’t care less what effect he has on the people around him.

Either way, it seems to work. Simon gives me an attempt at a half-smile and I kiss him for it. This seems to be how we solve most of our problems now. I really, really don’t mind.

 

**Simon**

It’s difficult to wallow with Baz fussing over me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still upset about the Mage. And confused, because didn’t he  _ just _ say he had to focus on the Old Families instead of the Humdrum? If I’m going to save the World of Mages I feel like I should at least be minorly aware of what’s going on.

But right now Baz is kissing me, and even though I’ve literally had weeks worth of kisses. I still melt into him. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. Not just the kissing, the  _ support. _ Baz is being  _ supportive _ . I don’t quite know what to do with it. It’s nice, though. I think I like it when Baz kisses me first. He’s so  _ cute _ about it, like he’s still worried I’m going to yank myself away from him.

“I love you,” I say between his kisses, because that’s a thing I can say now.

Baz smiles against me. “I love you too, Snow.” He pulls back a little and rests our foreheads together.

“Simon,” I whisper.

He rolls his eyes. “Simon.”

I kiss him again. And again. He makes this little gasping sound.

“Aren’t  _ I _ supposed to be comforting  _ you _ ?” he mumbles.

“You find this  _ comforting _ ?” I ask, tangling my hands in his hair and pushing him backwards so he has to lean on his hands.

Baz just hums in what I assume is supposed to be an annoyed tone as he wraps his arms around me and lets himself fall backwards onto my bed. Our teeth hit together a little. At first I think it’s fine, but then I taste blood. I barely even have time to register that fact before I find myself shoved upwards, away from Baz. His eyes are wide and he’s clapped both hands over his mouth, and I suddenly remember that I’m dating a literal vampire.

“Sorry,” Baz says through his hands. His tone is slightly lispy, like he doesn’t know how to talk around the fangs. “I’m sorry, it’s the blood, Iー”

“It’s all right,” I say quickly, but he’s got this look on his face like he’s done something terrible. “It’s all right,” I say again, and then because I have no idea what else to say, I kiss him on the cheek. His arms relax a little, but he doesn’t move his hands.

“I, um,” Baz says, (Baz  _ Pitch _ is stammering.) “I didn’t hunt yesterday. There was just… There was everything with the Mage and we were talking and I just never went out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” I say for the third time, and I curse myself, because if Baz weren’t so freaked out right now he’d be teasingly me endlessly.  _ Quite the vocabulary there, Snow. Have you considered debate team? _ I place my hands lightly on his wrists and stroke them with my thumb in what I hope is a comforting gesture. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be comforting you?” he mumbles.

I attempt to smirk.  _ Who’s repeating themselves now? _ I don’t know if I manage it. “You find this comforting?” I tease.

Baz rolls his eyes, but it’s halfhearted. I manage to get him to move his hands off of his mouth. I run my thumb over his lip, and he lets me move it back so I can see the tips of his fangs.

“Wicked,” I say quietly. It’s my go-to response now.

He snorts and moves my hand away. “You absolute git,” he says softly.

I smile and go to kiss him, but Baz puts his hand lightly on my chest. “Maybe not right now,” he says, and I can tell he’s still nervous. “I don’t want to Turn you accidentally.”

“But then we can be gay  _ and _ immortal.”

“You’re an idiot, Snow,” he says with a smirk, “and you don’t even know if you’re gay.”

“So what, you get to be both and I don’t get to be either?”

Baz dramatically puts his hand to the bridge of his nose like I’m giving him a migraine and lets out a long-suffering sigh. Combined with the fangs, it’s actually pretty comical.

Kissing’s off the table for now, so I lay down next to Baz and wind my fingers through his. We lay there for awhile, just talking about things. Not the Mage, because I don’t have the energy. Just little things. Football, scones, verb conjugations (that one’s all Baz).

We cuddle a lot now, which feels weird to say. I never “cuddled” with Agatha. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything with anyone else that could be classified as “cuddling.” It seems like such a stupid word, when you say it out loud, but right now Baz is curled up in my arms and my chin is resting on his head and our legs are all tangled, and what the hell else am I supposed to call this?

I really like when Baz is all soft like this. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t started to enjoy his drippingly sarcastic back-and-forth thing, but when Baz is like this he looks different. Harmless. Innocent, even.

I nuzzle into Baz’s hair and listen to the sound of his voice.

“... but of course  _ English _ has the present perfect, which is  _ exactly _ like the  _ passé composé _ , except for us it’s not a past tense because Crowley forbid we make  _ anything _ simple…”

I have no idea what he’s on about, but it makes me smile anyway.

“I love you,” I murmur, interrupting his grammar tirade.

Baz looks up at me and wrinkles his nose in a way he  _ knows _ I think is adorable before continuing on.

I give him a quick peck on the forehead and settle in to listen.

 

**Baz**

I go on for a bit about verb tenses, just to see if Snow will listen (he does), but eventually I just run out of things to say. He doesn’t bother trying to pick up the conversation, just lays there quietly with his arm around me. Snow doesn’t think of silences as awkward. He says he’s used to them. It’s stuff like that, the little things, that really break my heart. Sometimes he’ll talk about foster care, and I don’t know if I’m more infuriated because he was treated so poorly or because he just thinks it’s normal.  _ My _ family may be a complete and utter mess, but at least I know I was loved.

I take Snow’s hand and squeeze it.

I suppose I’ll just have to love him enough to make up for it all.

 

**Penelope**

When Simon doesn’t come to dinner, I just assume something must be wrong. He’s never this late, not when there’s roast beef involved. Nobody answers Simon and Baz’s door, so at first I assume they’re both out somewhere (Maybe I missed them on the way to dinner?) but then I hear a crashing sound coming from inside. I try the handle, but the door is locked, so I cast  **open sesame** and it swings open.

Baz is perched on the edge of his bed, looking wide-eyed and messy-haired. Simon is standing next to his own bed, which means he’s actually only about two feet in front of Baz, and his face is flushed. On the ground between them is a shattered lamp.

“Simon!” I exclaim. “Baz! Anathema!”

Baz glances at me and smooths his hair back with both hands, wiping the shocked expression off his face. “Bunce,” he says calmly. “Snow was just redecorating.”

“Baz!” Simon exclaims.

Baz quirks an eyebrow at him. “Would you prefer I use another word?”

 

**Simon**

Snogging. Baz and I were snogging.

 

**Penelope**

Simon glares at him. “Fuck off,” he says.

“Simonー” I start.

“It was an accident,” Baz drawls, “don’t worry. The room will forgive his ineptitude.”

 

**Simon**

I’m going to kill him.

 

**Penelope**

Simon makes a face and Baz laughs at it. I think they’ve both gone mental. I’ve got no idea what to make of this right now, so I cast  **right-side up** to fix the lamp. Baz plucks it up and sets it back on the table.

“Much obliged, Bunce.”

Simon sits down on his bed. “Thanks, Pen.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “Now why weren’t either of you at dinner?”

Simon’s eyes widen. “It’s  _ dinnertime? _ ” he asks.

“Seriously, Simon?” I say.

Baz snorts.

“Is the food all gone?” Simon asks forlornly.

“Likely,” I say, “I waited at least an hour.”

“Don’t pout, Snow,” says Baz. “I’ll go find Cook Pritchard. You can still gorge yourself on roast beef.”

Simon’s eyes light up. “I  _ love _ you,” he says.

Baz quirks an eyebrow. I snort. Simon blanches. Honestly, he’s so ridiculous sometimes.

“Well this is going to make killing you a lot more awkward,” Baz says cooly.

“I suppose this means you’re friends now?” I ask.

Baz smiles. (Genuinely. Weird.) “I suppose so.”

 

Supper in their room is mostly friendly chatting, with just a touch of conspiracy theorizing. Simon and Baz really are getting on quite well, even if Baz still sometimes flashes him that predatory look. Once it gets late enough, I spell our dishes clean and stack them on the desk, because none of us fancy taking them all the way back to kitchen.

“You going my way?” I ask Baz. It’s become standard with us.

Baz nods and gets up.

“Goodnight Simon,” I say.

“‘Night, Penny.”

“See you, Snow.”

Baz and I follow our usual routine: he’ll walk me back to the Cloisters and then go off to canvass the Catacombs. Neither of us acknowledges that he’s hunting, or why, even though Baz has already admitted he’s a vampire. We’re halfway to the Cloisters when we run into Baz’s friend Niall, who looks like he’s on his way back to Mummer’s House.

“Oi, Baz,” he calls, jogging over.

Baz stops and turns to him. “All right, Niall?”

But Niall has stopped a few feet away, and now he’s just staring at us. Both of us. I shift back and forth a little. “Is  _ Penny _ your new girlfriend?” he asks incredulously.

Baz rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. “No, you git.”

Niall shrugs, but he’s still staring at us. He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Just asking,” he says.

Baz shakes his head and keeps walking. I have to hurry to keep up with his ridiculously long legs. I turn back to see Niall’s finally kept on walking.

Something’s bothering me about what he said, though. Because usually, in that sentence, you would emphasize the girlfriend, right? But he didn’t. Niall didn’t ask if I was his  _ girlfriend; _ he asked if  _ I _ was his girlfriend.

“Are you  _ seeing  _ someone?” I ask, when we’re far enough away.

Baz blushes. Like actually blushes. Enough that I can make it out in the dark. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… You have a  _ girlfriend? _ ”

He shrugs. “Sort of.”

_ Sort of? _

How do you sort-of have a girlfriend?

Maybe Baz has a… boyfriend?

And then it clicks.

I remember a thousand little things, all at once: Simon jumping out of Agatha’s car. Simon skipping Christmas to be with Baz. Baz texting me on New Year’s. The Simon-specific glint. Baz sitting with us in class. Simon staring at him for hours. Small glances. Gentle words. A kind sort of laughter.

_ “I love you,” _ Simon said. And Baz didn’t blink.

Merlin and Morgana.

I stop in my path.

Baz is dating Simon.

_ Simon _ is dating  _ Baz. _

Which actually… It explains a lot.

It really shouldn’t explain a lot.

How did I not notice this before?

“Bunce?” Baz asks when he notices I’m no longer with him.

I have no idea what to say, so I ask him without thinking if he’s said anything to Agatha.

Baz quirks an eyebrow. “Agatha’s little crush is not my problem.”

_ It is when you’re dating her boyfriend. _ (Ex-boyfriend.) (Still, though.) “I think she should know, at least.”

“Then you tell her, Bunce.”

I roll my eyes. “Baz-”

“From me it’ll just sound like an insult,” he says, and surprisingly he actually sounds genuine.

I suppose I can’t argue with that, then.

 

And so I find myself knocking on Agatha’s door for the second time today, except now it’s obnoxiously late at night, and I definitely can’t say that I’m here just to chat.

This time she gets up to let me in.

“Penny,” she says, sounding pleasantly surprised. She’s already in her pyjamas. “Come in.”

I step inside awkwardly and Agatha closes the door. She definitely notices the difference in tone.

“What is it, Penny? Is something wrong?”

I hesitate. “Agatha,” I say, as gently as I can without sounding ingenuine.

She squints at me a little. “Yeah?” she asks cautiously.

I take a deep breath. “Agatha, Baz is seeing someone.”

I expect her to be upset, or angry, or at least solemnly resigned.

But Agatha is none of those things.

“ _ I knew it, _ ” she mutters, almost to herself. “ _ I fucking knew it _ .”

I want to ask her how she knew, but I have more to say, except maybe I  _ shouldn’t _ say it, because I haven’t actually talked to Simon about it, and I suppose he has the right  _ not  _ to tell her just as much as she has the right to know…

Luckily, Agatha makes my decision for me.

“He’s dating Simon, isn’t he?”

“ _ What?” _ I ask, because I cannot have heard her correctly.

There’s an awkward pause, and Agatha’s crosses her arms and looks down at the floor.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Sorry, I guess that sounded pretty mental, didn’t it?”

I shake my head slowly, still in shock. “No, no, it’s not that.” She looks up at me. “I… I didn’t think you knew.  _ I _ don’t even know for sure, it’s just Baz said somethingー”

Agatha cuts me off. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Her words come out all at once, like she’s been holding them all in for far too long. “I mean just  _ look _ at them! They’re so obviously obsessed with each other. And have you  _ seen _ the way Baz looks at Simon?”

_ Like a predator hunting its prey, _ I think.

“It’s like he’s holding himself back from snogging him,” she says.

…

Well.

I suppose her version works too.

 

Agatha and I end up talking for a long time, piecing together all the little clues like we’re starting a new investigation. Like these people are strangers, instead of our friends. I’m actually quite impressed by how unaffected she is. I guess she really was unhappy with Simon. I do wonder if her carelessness now is real, or if she’s just faking it to get through, but by the end of the hour I’m pretty convinced she isn’t, because we’re laying on her bed laughing and making fun of the both of them, and she seems pretty damn happy to me.

I’m going to have to talk to Simon about this eventually.

But right now it’s late, and I’m tired, and Agatha’s letting me stay in her room tonight so that I don’t have to deal with Trixie.

I’ll talk to Simon tomorrow, I decide. Sooner’s better than later.

 

**The Mage**

I’m scared to sleep. She finds me in my dreams.

It’s not my fault. I had to give him up.

The  _ world _ was on the line.

I wonder if she cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m considering some light Lucy POV, but I don’t know if it’s worth it since she’s mostly used for exposition and we already know what happened with them, but I really want to explore her relationship with the Mage, because I absolutely love her interludes and I think they’re some of the most heartbreaking parts of the story.
> 
> In other news, this story hit 100 kudos within a few hours of me posting chapter 3! (Update: we’re now at 121 and I’m freaking out just a bit.) I know 100 probably isn’t a lot in the long run but it really means a lot to me. Thank you so much to everyone who leaves comments and kudos and everything, I really appreciate you!


	5. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My friend complained that I kept saying they were snogging but never actually wrote them snogging. So… here you go (ft. Simon and Baz are both complete virgins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Warning: mild fluffy smut in this chapter. (No spoilers, but it involves a terrible first attempt at a handjob + grinding because they’re both such absolute virgins.) As someone who’s read/written my fair share of smut I’d say it’s fairly light with mild descriptions, but feel free to skip it if you want to. Not as much regular plot in this one, but I’ll include a TL;DR in the notes at the beginning of Chapter 6 for anyone who wants to skip.
> 
> So basically my thing with this is that most SnowBaz-having-sex things just has them go straight for like “real” sex (ie anal or frotting or whatever) and honestly? In my experience most people “lose their virginity” kind of slowly, like building up to it. So yeah. This is that. (Also neither of them have protections which is a must even if you’re virgins and no one can get pregnant.)
> 
> Thank you again to everyone reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc! You’re all amazing and I love and appreciate you!
> 
> (Also a note to the Americans that “pants” means “underwear” and what we would call pants are “trousers.” I don’t know if this is universal in the UK because I’m American myself, but it seems to be pretty common at least so that’s what I’m going with. UK people please correct me if I’m wrong.)

**Baz**

It’s rather late by the time I get back to our room. I expect Snow to be asleep, or at least _trying_ to sleep, but he isn’t. No, he’s sitting cross-legged in my bed, hair dripping (he must have just gotten out of the shower) and wearing nothing but his trackie bottoms. There’s nothing stopping me from tracing the constellations of his moles in my mind.

I swallow.

“Snow,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even as I shut the door behind me.

“Baz,” he says. There’s nothing special in his voice, but I still shiver. Because I’m weak. And because he’s _shirtless._ In my _bed._ (Which he has been before, for the record, just not at Watford.) I have to fight to push away the fifth-year fantasies that flood my brain. We haven’t really talked about any of _that_ sort of stuff yet, and I’ve a feeling this isn’t the best time to do so.

Instead I tug off my jacket and lay it out on top of the dresser. I sit down on my bed to take off my shoes, which puts me only a couple feet from Snow. The moment my shoes hit the ground, he sidles over and starts kissing my neck. It feels really, really good. I’m a little worried about my fangs popping, because they do that sometimes when I’m, well, let’s just say _alone_ and I’m not paying attention. It’s only happened with Simon once, and that was because of the actual, literal blood, but I’m still a little terrified of it happening again. I mean, what the hell? Is that supposed to be normal? Is it like the vampire equivalent of a hard-on or something? Or is it just specific to me? I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Either way, it’s so mortifying that I’d never ask about it, even if I _had_ someone to ask.

Luckily, my fangs stay in their proper place, wherever the fuck that is.

Snow shifts so he’s behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach. He doesn’t stop kissing my neck, but he _does_ start letting his hands wander along the skin just beneath the edge of my shirt. I lay my head back onto his shoulder, and his lips move to my throat. And then the bloody idiot _bites_ me. I mean, I suppose it’s more of a nip, but seriously? I can’t help it. I laugh.

“What?” Snow asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

I tilt my head and nuzzle at his jaw. “A little ironic, don’t you think, love?”

“Do you want me to keep going or not?”

I smirk and kiss the mole on his neck. “Go on, then.”

“How romantic,” Snow mutters, but he kisses my throat again. And again. And then he nips at my skin, only this time I’m ready for it, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it a little. I bring my hand up to brush his cheek, and he turns his head  away to kiss my wrist. It’s soft and sweet and entirely too romantic for me to handle. I nose at his cheek until he turns back to kiss me. His mouth tastes like toothpaste, and I’m ashamed to say that I like it. To be fair, I would probably like it no matter _what_ his mouth tasted like, because I love Snow’s mouth.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Baz.”

Snow rubs his thumb against the small line of hair below my navel, and then, because I’m a constant disappointment to myself, I moan. Snow laughs, the bastard, and presses his hand flat against my stomach. And then he drags his fingers along the waistband of my trousers.

I freeze.

“Baz?” Simon asks tentatively.

“ _Simon,_ ” I whisper, trying and failing to keep the want out of my voice.

“Can I?” he asks.

“ _Can_ you?” I say.  _As if he doesn’t already have me. As if he hasn’t_ always _had me._ “You can do anything you like, Snow.”

“Simon,” he says.

I snort again. “Simon.”

His fingers run along the inside of my waistband, and I inhale sharply. But then he pauses.

“ _Anything?_ ” he asks.

I laugh, and I’m embarrassed to say I sound out of breath. “Anything,” I say.

 

**Simon**

_Anything._ The word makes me blush. I don’t think Baz has done any of this before. I know _I_ haven’t. (Agatha had me touch her breast once, but it was kind of weird.) (I mean, what was I supposed to do, just _hold_ it?) I push Agatha out of my head. I don’t want to think about her right now. Not after what Baz just said. _Anything._ Christ. I mean, I know _I’ve_ thought about it before. Probably a thousand times over. (There’s no possible way to date someone as ridiculously attractive as Baz and _not_ think about it sometimes.)

Actually, I’m pretty sure Baz has thought about it too. I mean, he as much as told me so last week. We were laying in his bed (the one in his house, not the one at Watford) and it was pretty late, the kind where you can see the first bits of sunlight, so we were both pretty far gone. I don’t quite remember what we were talking about. I think Baz was teasing me, because he was talking about our fifth year.

_“You wouldn’t give me any bloody peace, Simon. I couldn’t get you out of my head. In class, at dinner, even in the bloody shower.”_

He paused after that, and I was tired enough that I don’t even think I would’ve noticed it if he hadn’t stopped talking completely. I remember the moment I realized what he’d said. _Baz Pitch thinks about me in the shower?_ I blushed like a maniac and acted like I hadn’t caught on, because I had no idea how I would even _begin_ to address that reality.

I still don’t.

It’s not that I don’t believe Baz is attracted to me, because he always makes it blatantly clear that he is. It’s more that I don’t know _why_ he’s attracted to me. I range from fairly scrawny to a bit chubby, depending on how much I’m eating, and I’m more or less covered in moles. Baz likes the moles. I think they make me look poxed, but he says they look like constellations. He kisses them constantly, probably more than he even kisses my mouth.

“Simon,” Baz says, interrupting my thoughts, “you don’t _have_ to do anything.” His voice is gentle.

“I know,” I say, and to prove it, I kiss him. It’s a bit difficult, since I’m behind him and he’s taller than me and I imagine he must have to crane his neck to reach me, but his hand is still on my cheek, so I guess he’s all right with it. I run my fingers back along the waistband of his trousers, and he shivers.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say, and he nods.

I unbuckle his belt and slide my hand down.

The first thing I realize is that I’m not actually touching him. My hand is under his trousers but over his pants, so there’s still a layer of fabric between our skin. Which is probably better for now, considering neither one of us knows what we’re doing. (I mean, I suppose _I_ do a bit, but it’s not like I wank off that much.) ( _Does_ Baz know what he’s doing? He said he hadn’t even kissed anybody before me, so I’m going to assume no.)

The second thing I notice is that Baz is hard, which is, I mean, what else was I expecting? But it still stands out to me. I know Baz has gotten hard-ons from snogging me before (and Crowley knows I have), but there’s a distinct difference between accidentally brushing against it and purposely rubbing your hand against it, which I do. Baz makes a soft sound and buries his face in my neck. I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I keep going anyway, and Baz starts grinding up against my hand. It’s actually… It’s really hot.

I tilt my head to kiss him, and Baz just sort of clutches at my face. He keeps making these soft little noises between kisses. I wonder if I should be doing something more, pulling down his trousers or something, but Baz doesn’t say anything, so I don’t.

And then he _does_ say something.

“ _Please._ ” It comes out all breathy.

“Please what?” I ask, not because I’m being cheeky, but because I don’t quite know what he wants. I stop moving my hand for a moment and he whines. Loudly.

It’s completely unfair.

Baz is stupidly attractive, even when he’s whining and pathetic ( _especially_ when he’s whining and pathetic) and he’s writhing around in my lap with my hand down his trousers and I can’t help but grind up against him. I must be completely hard by now, and even in _this_ situation it’s still a little embarrassing. Baz, however, seems to disagree, because he slips his tongue into my mouth and grinds down against me.

Now it’s my turn to moan.

I sound nothing like Baz, though. His sounds are _hot_ . I sound like I’m choking. Baz laughs against my mouth. Bastard. I press down on him through his pants in retaliation, and he _hisses_.

Baz shifts in my lap like he’s trying to get up, so I pull my hand out of his trousers and let go of him. He turns around, and I’m about to ask him if something’s wrong when he straddles my lap and practically crashes his lips against mine. I guess he was just trying to snog me properly, then.

 

**Baz**

I know I must be dreaming, because there is no physical reality in which Simon bloody Snow just had his hand down my trousers, but right now I don’t particularly care. All I can think, all I can possibly process about this situation, is that he’s too bloody far away. I kiss him as hard as I can without drawing blood (because I absolutely do not want my fangs to pop right now) and grind down against him. (I still can’t believe he’s _hard._ For _me._ ) (Simon Snow wants _me._ ) He makes another of those ridiculous noises and Crowley, Snow is a mess at this, but so am I, and he feels _so good._

Snow tugs at the front of my shirt like he wants me to take it off, so I fumble with the buttons while he bites my bottom lip. He’s making this whole thing so impossible and I never want him to stop. Simon tugs at my shirt again, because he has the patience of a child, only this time I feel a spark of his magic and the buttons pop open. I can’t help but laugh.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry.”

“You beautiful fucking disaster,” I say, and kiss him again.

There’s something ridiculously intimate about his bare chest against mine.

Simon tugs at the sleeves of my shirt to pull it off the rest of the way and tosses it onto the floor. I cup his face in my hands and kiss him deeply, and his arms slip around my waist. His hands ghost along my back, tracing my skin before travelling to my hips. He holds me there and pulls me forward, rocking my hips against his. I shudder and grind down, letting him set the pace. Snow is completely in control of me, and I love it.

He is _good_ at this. Really good. I hardly have to do anything except hold on and keep kissing him. Except then, of course, because I am incapable of having nice things without royally fucking them up, my brain starts to wonder _why exactly_ Snow is so good at this. I pull back.

“Have you done this before?” I ask. I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to know what he’s done with Wellbelove. My own imagination is bad enough.

“No,” he says, “never.”

Well, of course he hasn’t done this _exactly_ . “Not just with a bloke,” I say. “I mean, have you ever done anything _like_ this before?”

“No,” he says again, more insistently this time. “Why, have you?”

“No,” I admit. “I just assumedー”

“I never did anything with Agatha,” he says, because he knows me too bloody well. “I mean, we snogged, and I, um, I touched her breast. Once. But wasn’t, like, sexy or anything. It was mostly just awkward.”

I laugh, and he makes a face at me.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Would you rather it wasn’t?”

I shake my head and kiss him again. _It was mostly just awkward._ As if anything we’re doing here isn’t. But that’s so unbelievably Simon, isn’t it? The bloody idiot. _My_ bloody idiot.

Simon pulls me in tight so I’m pressed against his skin, and then he turns us to the side and lowers my onto my back. Well, _pushes_ me onto my back, more like, because it doesn’t really work. Snow is not a particularly well-coordinated person, even on the best of days. He has to get up afterwards and sit down again between my legs just to get into a position that’s even mildly comfortable. But this is already one of the best things that’s happened to me, so I figure I’ve got no place complaining.

Once Simon’s finally figured out what he’s doing, he leans down again and kisses me. Deeply. His mouth is hot on mine, and his body is pressed so tightly against me that I have no idea where Snow starts and I end. He rocks his hips, and a little noise escapes my mouth. (Because apparently I’m even a traitor to myself.) Snow smiles against my lips and does it again. And again. I do my best to swallow my noises, because they’re embarrassing and because I don’t particularly want the entirety of Mummer’s House to know what we’re doing, but most of the sounds find their way out anyway.

Simon keeps going, and _Aleister Crowley_ I'm just about certain that everyone can hear us at this point (or at least, hear _me_ anyway, because Snow is just breathing heavily), but then he moves to kiss my neck and I don't care about anything else. I feel a warmth growing in lower body and I curse myself because _Aleister Crowley,_ _I’m going to come._

It’s literally been minutes, and we aren’t even properly doing anything (I’m still wearing my _trousers,_ for magic’s sake), but I know myself well enough to tell when I’m close.

“Simon,” I say quietly, “Simon, I―"

And then I'm coming. Fucking coming. In my trousers.

“Baz?” Simon asks, because I’ve gone completely silent, but I can’t focus on him. I can’t focus on anything.

“Keep going,” I gasp, and he does.

Simon covers me in kisses as I come down, and it isn’t long before he’s gasping too, and making this ridiculous noise that’s about halfway between a whine and a grunt. He buries his face in my neck as he comes, and it’s actually… really endearing.

He collapses against me for a moment afterwards, but then he looks up and grins. A hand comes up to brush against my lips.

“What?” I mumble, and then I feel them. My fucking fangs are out. I blush.

“Didn’t you _just_ go hunting?” Snow asks. I roll my eyes, and he laughs. I know it isn’t a mean laugh, but I still feel mortified. Because now he knows that my fangs pop during sex. Which is just... “Wicked,” he says, clearly mimicking himself.

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off,” I mumble.

He kisses my cheek. “We should probably, um,” he gestures downwards, “clean up?”

I snort. “You’ll have to get off of me first.”

“You can’t just ‘clean as a whistle’?”

“ _I_ for one feel disgusting and will be taking a shower. You can do whatever you like.”

Snow pouts. “I can’t do any cleaning spells, though.”

Of course he can’t. “Do you want me to spell you, then?”

He makes a face. “I s’pose not.”

I roll my eyes at him, because _honestly_ , and then I roll him off of me and grab my pyjamas. I consider inviting Snow to join me, but I’m already fairly overwhelmed by the concept of Snow getting me off and I really don’t know if I’m ready for full frontal just yet.

Two showers later, we’re back in my bed, and Snow and I are completely tangled together. He didn’t have any other clean pyjama bottoms, so he’s wearing some of mine. I really, really don’t mind.

We fall asleep like that, so close I can feel his heartbeat. In the morning the first thing I see is his face as he drools (gross) on my pillow. His eyes flicker open and he smiles. I kiss him on the nose. He pulls me into a real kiss, which should be gross because morning breath but isn’t gross because it’s Simon. And then…

And then the door opens.

It sounds it like a gun going off. (Vampire senses will do that sometimes.)

I jerk away from Snow.

At first I assume it’s Bunce, which would be awkward, but salvageable. Except of course it isn’t just Bunce, because that would be too simple, wouldn’t it?

Because Bunce is standing in the doorway, all right, but standing next to her, eyebrows raised so high they’re practically in her hairline, is Agatha fucking Wellbelove.

This is going to be a hell of a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thursday we should be back to our regularly scheduled program, I just really wanted to write this one like this.


	6. Not Exactly Subtle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz come out of the closet. (To Penny and Agatha, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 TL;DR as promised: Simon and Baz made out for awhile & had mild sexytimes (but both of them are still virgins). Everything was fine until the next morning when they were starting to make out again and Agatha and Penny opened the door.
> 
> Okay, so I was actually really stressed about Chapter 5 because I don’t want to be known for only writing smut but you guys actually seemed to like it? So I’m glad that worked out lol. Anyway, it’s Chapter 6 and we are now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program with these nerds. Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and just general kindness!
> 
> Sorry this chapter is coming in so late at night! I completely blanked on what day it was until my phone reminded me that Chapter 6 was in fact meant to go up today and not tomorrow. (This chapter is also not as well edited as a result so I apologize for any inconsistencies.)
> 
> ****UPDATE****  
> I'm so sorry guys. Today was really really hectic and I got zero chance to write. That plus the Ren Faire this weekend means the next chapter will not be up until Wednesday. I feel really bad for making you all wait for nearly a week but I just don't know when I'm going to be able to write. Anyways, those of you who haven't read it already please enjoy chapter 6!

**Lucy**

There is a whispering kind of pain, one that creeps into your bones. When the sun shines bright, it slithers out and twists around your spine. It crushes your ribcage. It kisses your skull. It paints you in red, like a dahlia.

He promised me,  _ promised _ me, that he would take care of you.

I suppose he tried, in his own way.

I should have known better.

 

**Penelope**

I certainly am glad I knew about this mess beforehand.

Agatha and I decided this morning to go and confront Simon and Baz. (Well, not  _ confront _ exactly, just… let them know that we knew.) Or something along those lines. Neither of us had really figured out what we were going to say, which is just as well all things considered. All I did was open the door (which was unlocked, by the way) and the first thing I saw was Baz moving very quickly away from Simon, like we just caught them kissing. Which I’d say is a pretty fair bet, considering they’re both lying in Baz’s bed and they’re both shirtless. (And possibly naked. Who knows at this point.) The two of them sit up to look at us. Next to me, Agatha makes a noise of disbelief.

Simon looks like a deer in the headlights. So does Baz, though he’s doing a slightly better job of hiding it. He smooths his hair down with his hands while Simon just gapes.

“Bunce,” Baz says, like this is a perfectly normal occurrence, “Wellbelove. Good morning.”

Agatha snorts, then reaches for the doorknob. I take a step back into the hallway as she closes it in front of us. Her eyebrows are impossibly raised. “So we were right, then,” she says.

“Looks like,” I say. “Are you all right?” Her voice is unusually high-pitched.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah. It’s good to know for sure.”

 

**Agatha**

It’s kind of a relief, actually.

It can’t be my fault with Simon, now, and it can’t be my fault with Baz. They were in love with each other. There’s nothing I could’ve done.

I suppose I should feel angry, or sad, or like, indignant or something, but I don’t. All I feel is this sense of release, of  _ freedom _ .  _ Not my fault. Not my fault. _ And I don’t have to be with either of them now.

I don’t have to be with  _ anyone _ .

I could run off to America, like Lucy Salisbury. Just leave my wand behind and go.

“Agatha?” Penny asks.

“I’m all right, Pen. Really,” I say, because it doesn’t look like she believes me. “Look, I’m just going to head to breakfast. I think Simon would rather deal with just you right now.”

Penelope knows I’m right. It’s one thing for us to march over here and confront him. It’s quite another to walk in on him and his secret boyfriend doing… whatever it is they were doing. I might be a little bit in shock, if I’m honest. I mean, I knew they both fancied each other, and after the thing that happened to Penny with Niall we both assumed they were dating, but… I never really thought about them  _ kissing. _ I certainly never considered that they might be having sex. Simon was always so  _ weird _ about sex. And it wasn’t a problem or anything, but seeing him naked (Probably naked? He was shirtless, at least.) with Baz was certainly not what I was expecting. Maybe Simon’s like, properly gay. I don’t love that thought. I mean, I  _ did _ have feelings for him at some point in our relationship. I’d like to think that he did, too.

“All right,” Penny says, though she still looks concerned. “You go on then. I’ll…” She waves her hand at the door. I give her a little smile.

“Cheers, Pen,” I say. My heart isn’t in it. Penny notices. She pulls me into a hug.

“You’ll be all right,” she says. “Save me some food, will you?”

“You sound like Simon,” I say.

She snorts. “See ya, Agatha.”

“See ya, Penny.”

 

**Baz**

From the moment the door opened, Snow looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him on the spot. I was fairly shaken as well, but Penny and Agatha are Simon’s friends, not mine, which meant he had the most to lose from them finding out.

“Bunce,” I said, trying to keep my voice level as I fixed my (probably) disheveled hair, “Wellbelove. Good morning.”

Then Wellbelove made a noise and shut the door, leaving Snow and I alone in my bed.

“I suppose that’s one thing off our list,” I say, trying to keep it light. He turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes me instantly regret what I just said.

Simon opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out. He bites down on his lip instead, and I wrap an arm around him.

“It’s all right, love,” I say gently. “Penelope will… she’ll figure it out. She’s not going to stop being your friend.”

“And Agatha?” he asks quietly.

I hesitate. I want to tell him that everything’s going to be all right, that I’ll  _ make _ it be all right, but I can’t promise that. And Simon isn’t stupid. Wellbelove could very well decide she hates the both of us and never wants to speak to us either again. I wouldn’t particularly have a problem with that (Crowley knows I’ve spent years wishing she were out of the picture) but I know Simon would. He has about a million friends, but he only has two close ones. Three, I suppose, if I count. (Do I count?) I know he’d miss Wellbelove like hell, even if he doesn’t have feelings for her.

So I don’t say anything. I just wrap my arms around him. Simon falls back against my chest and rests his head against my collarbone. I hold him. Then the door opens again, and Bunce reemerges, this time sans Wellbelove.

 

**Penelope**

I open the door slowly, because I really really don’t need to see either of these two naked. “You decent?” I ask.

“Yes, Bunce,” Baz calls, and I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. I shut the door behind me and look up at them. They’re both on Baz’s bed still, and Baz is holding Simon ( _ holding _ him) in his lap. Simon won’t look at me. “For the record, we were decent before,” Baz adds. His voice is cool and even, like I just walked in on him eating a sandwich and not snogging my best friend in his bed. He looks almost like he’s… protecting Simon. From me. Which is just about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. 

“Fair enough,” I say. Since they’re obviously past hiding this whole thing, I decide to get right to it. “So you two are shagging now?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“We weren’t  _ shagging, _ Penny.”

“Fine then, Simon,” I say, rolling my eyes, “you two  _ making love? _ ”

“No, we  _ aren’t _ ,” Simon says. “I mean, we  _ weren’t _ . Weー We were doing  _ some _ things, yes, but not  _ that. _ I mean, I’m not saying I don’t  _ want _ to,” he says quickly, (Baz raises an eyebrow) “I just… I don’t exactly fancy losing my virginity on a Tuesday night.”

Well that was a whole lot of information I didn’t particularly need. My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re still a  _ virgin? _ ” I ask. It’s hardly the most important part of what he just said, but it’s the first thing my brain is able to process from it. Simon blushes violently.

“Yeah. I am. And can you please not say it like that?”

“Sorry,” I say, “sorry. It’s just… never? Not even with Agatha?”  _ You’ve never even had sex with Agatha but you’re “doing things” with Baz Pitch. _

“Never,” he says. “Why, have you?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“What? With who?” He looks shocked.

I look at him like he’s an idiot. “Micah?” I say. “My  _ boyfriend? _ ” Which I figure should have been pretty obvious.

“Right,” Simon says. I roll my eyes. Baz just looks royally amused.

“So now that we’ve  _ that _ sorted,” he drawls, “is there anything else you’d like to talk about, besides Snow’s virginity? Our favorite snogging position? My HIV status, perhaps?”

“I mean, I wasn’t worried about it _ before, _ but now that you mention it…” 

“I’m a virgin as well, Bunce.”

“You’re also a vampire,” I point out. “Blood transmission.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “I’m clean,” he says dryly. “Anything else?”

I cross my arms in front of my chest. I feel like I should be asking them more things, but I can’t think of anything that Agatha won’t want to know as well, so I just shake my head.

“Really?” Baz asks. “That’s it?”

Simon isn’t saying anything, but he looks confused too.

I just shrug at them. “It… makes sense,” I say. “Weirdly enough, it makes sense.”

Simon makes a small noise of relief. Baz smiles at him. They really do make sense, don’t they?

“I’m going to head downstairs,” I say. “I’ll be back with breakfast and Agatha.”

Simon looks instantly stressed again. “D’you think she’ll be angry?” he asks. “I don’t want to make her angry.”

I smile at him. “To be honest, Simon, we’d already figured it out. We were coming over to talk to you about it when we walked in you.”

Even Baz looks shocked this time. I feel more than a little smug.

“Really, you two,” I say. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

I swear Simon’s face gets even redder, if that’s possible.

“I do have one thing, though,” I say. “It’s not really a question, but it is obligatory.” I put my hands on my hips and look Baz dead in the eyes. “If you use Simon for any of your Old Family nonsenseー”

_ “Penny, _ ” Simon protests.

“Let me finish, Simon,” I say, Baz snorts. “I you ever use him, or hurt him, or otherwise break his heart, I swear on my magic, Basil, I will fuck you up, yeah?”

Baz smiles widely. Which is. Not the reaction I was expecting.

“I doubt it’ll come to that, Bunce,” he says, “because I don’t plan on hurting him.”

I raise my eyebrows. Baz laughs.

“I love him,” he says. “Completely. I promise.”

My heart swells a little at the look on Simon’s face. He does that little nose-bump thing to Baz, the kind you’d usually only see in a film. And I can’t help but believe Baz, even after the years of animosity between them, because he  _ looks _ like someone completely in love. They both do.

“Right,” I say. “Well, I’m going to go get Agatha, so please try to be fully clothed and  _ not  _ snogging by the time I get back.”

 

**Lucy**

All I wanted was for you to be loved.

All those years I was always here, always hoping. I used to sing to you at night. I’d fight to reach you, fight with everything I had, but it was never enough. I used to think I got close sometimes, but you never heard me. Not even once.

So I’ll just sit here. And talk. And maybe one day you’ll hear me.

It’s good to see you happy, Simon.

 

**Simon**

_ They know. _ It’s like a massive weight’s been lifted off of my shoulders. Penny and Agatha both know. And neither of them are angry.

Well, I suppose Agatha still might be, but Penny didn’t seem to think so, and Penny’s usually right.

Baz smiles at me. It’s a small smile. One of my favorites. “You all right?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. I was expecting…” (What  _ was _ I expecting? For Agatha to think I was getting back at her? For  _ Penny _ to think I was getting back at Agatha?) “worse,” I say. I hope he’ll just figure out the rest. (He’s usually pretty good at that, actually.)

Baz’s smile widens and he kisses me on the forehead. I don’t think I mind being shorter than him anymore. 

“You know we need to get dressed, Snow,” Baz says. “Or Bunce’ll kill us both.”

I make a face at him, but Baz pushes me off his lap anyway. He gets up and goes over to his dresser to get his uniform, carrying it into the bathroom like he would any other morning. The door shuts behind him, and after a minute I hear the shower running. I grumble at no one in particular and reluctantly get up out of Baz’s bed. Even though it’s warm, and it smells like him. Cedar and bergamot. It must his shampoo or something, because there’s no way a human being can smell this good naturally.

One time I asked Baz what I smell like to him and he said “butter” without missing a beat. I honestly couldn’t tell if he was serious or just taking the piss because he was laughing too hard and he refused to tell me afterwards.

 

Baz is still in the bathroom by the time Penny gets back with breakfast and Agatha. A lot of things have changed between us since we started dating, but Baz’s year-long showers are not one of them.

Penny puts the food down on the desk, and Agatha and I stand awkwardly.

“Hiya Simon,” she says.

“Hiya,” I say.

A silence falls between us. Agatha breaks it first.

“Are you…” she starts. “Are you gay?”

I shrug. Her eyebrows knit together.

“That’s not an answer, Simon.”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Are you bi, then?” she asks.

“Look, I seriously don’t know.”

“ _ Really? _ ” asks Penny.

I huff. “Please don’t. Baz gives me enough for it already.”

Penny puts her hands up in an  _ I surrender _ sort of way.

Agatha just stares. “So you don’t know if you’re gay. But you are dating Baz?”

“Yes,” I say. “Yeah.”

“And you love each other,” Agatha says.

“Yes,” I say again. “We do.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

At first I think she’s just being polite, but then she gives me this encouraging smile. I feel my face break out into a grin.

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Don’t ruin the moment, Simon,” she says, but she says it kindly.

 

By the time Baz finally gets out of the bathroom, the three of us are sitting on the floor, talking and (in my case) shovelling scones. He takes one look at us and snorts.

“Back to normal then, are we?”

 

**The Mage**

Everything was perfect for seven minutes. And then everything went wrong.

She wouldn’t stop bleeding.

I did everything I could, but she wouldn’t stop bleeding.

How was I supposed to take care of  _ him _ , if I couldn’t even take care of her?

How am I supposed to save him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the scheduling stuff, and thank you for bearing with me <3


	7. Who Gives a Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz decides to tell his family about Simon. Dinner goes terribly terribly wrong, but not for that reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I read Chapter 6 before writing this and woww I really really hate it and I really want to rewrite it but I also need to write Chapter 7. So I’m just going to move on and come back to that chapter later.
> 
> Also I think what I’m realizing is that posting every other day just isn’t realistic when I have other things to do, so I’m going to start updating Wednesdays and Saturdays and see how that goes. Thank you all for putting up with my scheduling!
> 
> And a really big thank you to the people who continue to leave comments and kudos! I know I don’t always respond to comments but it’s not because I don’t appreciate them! I read them all on my phone when I’m not signed in and then I forget to respond later, but I really do appreciate all of you, especially the ones whose names I now recognize because of how supportive y’all are.
> 
> So yeah, without getty mushy about it, here’s Chapter 7.

**Simon**

We manage to get through the rest of the week without any major disasters. Actually, I think the week goes rather well. We don’t focus as much on our investigation, but that’s mostly because Agatha is eating with us again and she still wants nothing to do with it. Agatha and Baz are getting along really, really well. To the extent that I sometimes start to feel jealous. (Whenever I do, Baz always rests his hand on my thigh under the table, so I guess it’s not such a bad situation.)

Baz’s friends, however, are freaked out to all hell. Baz has been sitting with us for just about every meal, and it’s been driving Dev and Niall up the wall. Friday morning (which was yesterday) they finally caved and sat down with us at breakfast. Neither of them really said anything, just kept flashing these passive-aggressive annoyed glances at Baz, who refused to acknowledge it. So they sat with us again at lunch that day. And dinner. I’m starting to wonder if Baz is enjoying this.

I spent last night in Baz’s bed, which is where I’ve been sleeping pretty much every night, even though it’s cramped. Baz woke me up this morning with scones, and now he’s watching me eat about twenty of them all in one go.

“You ever consider savoring them a little?” he asks, nibbling on the corner of one. He’s been getting less paranoid about his fangs. Sometimes he’ll even eat with us during mealtimes.

“Never,” I say, crumbs flying.

“Ugh.” Baz mimes gagging, but if he really cared that much, he wouldn’t have brought the scones.

I swallow what’s in my mouth and add another giant pat of butter to my scone. Baz rolls his eyes.

“Making up for lost meals, are we?”

I make a face at him. He laughs.

I know he isn’t teasing me. Or at least, he isn’t teasing me in a mean way. I got mad at him once, because I’m not usually that aware of my body but having your boyfriend comment on it is a lot different than having your sworn enemy comment on it. Baz just quirked an eyebrow at me, cool as can be (the tosser) and informed me that he happened to like that I was gaining weight, thank you very much, because I only get skinny when I’m not eating enough.

Penny and Agatha are going to the cinema today, which means it’s just Baz and me. Later he’s going to dinner with his aunt Fiona, but that isn’t for another six hours. (It’s noon already. Which Baz has reminded me of about a million times. Even though I’m pretty sure he likes the excuse to stay in bed.) For now, though, we’re just lazing about and eating scones, and Baz is staring at me with this  _ look _ that makes my face flush and my heart swell all at once.

“You want to do anything?” I ask him, spewing crumbs everywhere.

Baz rolls his eyes and smiles. “Just being with you is enough,” he says. “Crowley knows I never thought I’d get the chance.”

 

**Baz**

Snow raises his eyebrows at me, and I almost regret saying that out loud. But it’s true, isn’t it? I’ve spent so fucking long just  _ pining _ after him, and now I have him. And his friends don’t even mind. Actually, I think they might be  _ our _ friends now. I mean, it’s rather obvious that if we ever broke up they would go back to being just his friends, but it’s nice to have friends who I don’t have to lie to. Not that keeping Dev and Niall in the dark has been much work, the numpties. They’ve taken to eating with me over at the Simon and friends table just so they can stare at me for an hour straight to see if they can crack the code. So far they don’t seem to have anything. I think they would’ve mentioned it, otherwise.

I’m not particularly worried about Dev and Niall finding out, since the worst they could do is tell my family.

And that’s exactly what I’m planning to do tonight.

I told Snow that I’m having dinner with Fiona, which is true. What I did not tell him is that my parents are also having dinner with Fiona. It’s a little unusual (normally if we’re all having dinner my parents will invite Fiona over, not the other way around), but I specifically asked Fiona to host, because I have a plan. Now that Bunce and Wellbelove both know, it’s about time I told my family. I’m coming over before everyone else so that I can tell Fiona about Snow and I. If she’s all right with it, I’ll tell my parents. If she totally flips her shit (which I don’t think she will, but it’s still a possibility), then  _ she’ll _ tell my parents, and the end result will be more or less the same. I’m eighteen now. If my parents kick me out and Fiona won’t take me in, I can always get a flat on my own. It’ll be fine. Absolutely, totally fine.

“Stop it,” says Snow. His mouth is clear of scone, for once.

I quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Stop thinking,” he clarifies. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t.”

I smirk at him. “Like you do?” I tease. “Just start a list of things not to think about and keep going until I’ve got my whole life written down?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not your  _ whole _ life,” he says.

“Oh? So there are things I’m allowed to think about?”

“Obviously.”

“Like?”

“Me.” Snow gives me an impish grin. I scoff.

“Is that all?” I ask dryly.

“Hey!”

I roll my eyes and lean over the now-empty plate of scones (Aleister Crowley, there were at least a dozen when I brought them up here) to kiss Snow on the cheek.

“Ugh,” I say.

“What?”

“I can  _ taste _ the butter.”

Snow shoves me playfully and then grabs me by the shirt and pulls me into a kiss. I can only taste more butter now, and sour cherry scones, but I’m not complaining. I fucking love kissing him. I pull away long enough to cast  **into thin air** on the mess of scones and butter in my bed, and then I push him backwards into the mattress. We haven’t done any of  _ that  _ sort of thing since Tuesday night, but at least I don’t have to worry as much about being pressed up full-body against him anymore. And I’m less worried about my fangs popping. (Once you’ve reached peak mortification, there’s not much you can do to embarrass yourself further.)

Crowley, Simon Snow is so  _ alive _ beneath me. He wraps a leg around my waist and pulls me in tighter. He slips his tongue into my mouth (he’s sloppy about it, but I don’t mind) and buries his hands in my hair. All thoughts of my family’s reaction are shoved unceremoniously out of my mind. Who gives a fuck if he’s the Mage’s Heir? I, for one, am in absolute bliss.

 

**Penelope**

I completely forgot that Agatha and I were going to the cinema until yesterday afternoon. Luckily, I doubt Simon particularly minds having the day alone with Baz. They’ve been less and less subtle about their relationship ever since Agatha and I found out, to the point where I’d bet money Baz’s friends and probably half the school have guessed it by now. Baz has gone from basically terrorizing Simon at every possible opportunity to gently teasing him and bringing him scones. They’re constantly being all soft with each other, especially in closed quarters. It’d be really sweet actually, if it didn’t mean that I had to be twice the voice of reason I usually am. (It is still rather sweet, I just have no idea when this honeymoon phase is going to end.)

I’ve been noticing a whole lot of changes in Simon. He’s happier now, and… lighter. Baz said they’ve been working on controlling Simon’s magic. (The Pitches have been known to turn out real magickal powerhouses, no surprise they’ve got a whole trove of books for high-powered magicians.) It’s like this whole thing with Baz is retroactively proving that Simon was never really in love with Agatha.

She doesn’t seem to mind that much.

She did cry over it, once, but she said it was just because she’s overwhelmed and not because she’s actually unhappy. Which is fair, I guess. I honestly expected worse. I think she’s realizing she was never really in love with Simon, either. I think the issue is really about her parents. Agatha’s mom is not taking so well to losing her daughter’s perfectly planned-out future. Agatha said she told her mom about the breakup at the end of Christmas holiday, but apparently they never really finished the conversation because now we’re on our way to the cinema, and I’m sitting in the middle of probably the most awkward car ride conversation I have ever been a part of. And I have four siblings.

“I don’t see why you two can’t just get over whatever this is and make up,” Mrs. Wellbelove says for the third or fourth time.

“I’ve told you, mum, Simon and I  _ have _ made up.” Agatha’s voice is light, but forced.

“So you’re getting back together?”

“We’ve made up as  _ friends. _ ”

“Oh, heaven’s snakes, Agatha! Why can’t the two of you just get back together, then?”

“Because we don’t  _ feel  _ that way about each other.”

“Every relationship has its rough patches. I’m sure you two could figure this out if you’d justー”

This has been more or less the script of their conversation for the past ten minutes. It is also the script of their conversation for the  _ next _ ten minutes, until we finally reach the cinema. I just stare out the window and do my best to stay out of it. Even if I think Mrs. Wellbelove is being totally unfair (as if Agatha needs a  _ boyfriend _ to be happy), I don’t think it would be useful for me to say that right now. This feels like something Agatha should be taking care of on her own.

Luckily, Mrs. Wellbelove drops the subject once we’re out of the car. Her expression turns suddenly sunny, as if she’s having the best day of her life.

Agatha looks like she’s actively trying not to trudge.

 

**Agatha**

Even Into the Woods can’t help the pit I feel growing in my stomach. I’m sandwiched in the seat between my mother and Penelope, and I don’t know who I want to talk to the least. My mother’s thinly veiled annoyance is difficult but familiar, and Penny’s thinly veiled concern is well-meant but tiring. So I sit here between them and try to ignore the fact that in two hours I’ll be expected to talk to them both again.

I’ve never told my mum why I love Into the Woods so much. She doesn’t get the point. She’s more than happy to watch the old fairy tales play out to their romantic end in the first act, but she doesn’t see the point in the rest of it. I do. Intimately.

Because sometimes you get the happy ending. You have the magic, you have the prince, you have fucking everything. And sometimes you’re still not happy.

And sometimes the only thing to do is to run, just pick up your bags and fuck right on off before the cost of your magic catches up to you.

That’s what I’d like to do.

But saying that out loud would send my mother in to cardiac arrest, so I just tell her I like the music and that’s good enough for her.

 

**Baz**

Snow says he doesn’t want me to go. I’ve spent all bloody day with him, and he still doesn’t want me to go. I have to put up with him whining and complaining and asking me why I need two whole hours to get ready, nevermind that I would’ve only taken one hour if I hadn’t taken into account all his whining and complaining. It’s almost annoying. (It  _ should _ be annoying.) But fortunately for him, I’m a sap. I let him press kisses into my neck as I’m trying to brush my hair. I let him hang off my shoulder as I’m buttoning up my shirt. I let him drag me back into bed one I’m dressed, even though I’m supposed to be outside the gate in two minutes.

“M’gonna miss you,” he says, pulling me into a bear hug.

I roll my eyes. “It’s a few hours, Simon.”

“Simon?”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Snow.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 

**Fiona**

Really, sister, what was I expecting?

I knew something was up the moment your devilish little spawn sent me a magickal note asking me to invite Malcolm and Daphne over for dinner. I knew it was important when he showed up a full hour early with his hair slicked back like he had something to prove.

He nearly cried when he told me, as if I didn’t already know. As if him telling me he’d met a bloke or “something like that” the same day he invited Simon bloody Snow to stay at his house for two weeks wasn’t a dead giveaway. As if I haven’t spent literal years hearing him spit Agatha Wellbelove’s name like poison since she started dating the Chosen One. As if I haven’t spent every day since he came out to me hoping against hope that he wouldn’t fall into some Love Actually joke of a situation with the Mage’s Heir.

The first thing I think is that Baz is going to have to kill him one day.

The second thing I think is that saying that now might actually kill  _ Baz. _

I haven’t seen him this bloody fragile since he told me he was gay. There’s not much I can do but pull him into a hug and tell him it’ll all be okay, even though I know it won’t be.

I think he thinks you’d be ashamed of him, sister. Of what he is. Of who he loves. But I know you, and I know nothing short of murder could dim that mother’s pride. You would have held him like this, and told him you loved him, and promised to stand by him no matter what happened next. So that’s what I do. And you know what, sister? It works.

 

**The Mage**

There is one place. The most obvious one.

My men and I have searched the building nearly half a dozen times, but we’ve never been able to look with the family all gone.

If there’s anything,  _ anything _ that can help Simon now, it’s in that house.

Because there was only one mage in recorded history who knew a damn thing about going off.

And that was Natasha Grimm-Pitch.

 

**Baz**

I hardly say anything to my parents when they finally show up (exactly on time, but I came over far too early). I hardly speak to them afterwards, either, and Fiona has to carry the conversation until we’re practically done with dinner.

I’m losing my nerve. I know I am. But I have to tell them. I have to just… just get it out now. Before I lose it completely. I clear my throat and set down my fork. (I haven't really been eating, just pushing the food around my plate.) I’m anxious as all hell, but it’s now or never at this point.

“Mum,” I say, because maybe she’ll be more sympathetic if I don’t call her Daphne, “Dad, there’s something I’d like to talk to you two about.”

And then, as if on fucking cue, my dad’s mobile rings. He checks it.

“Ah, sorry, Basil. Families.” He gets up from the table. “I’ll just be a minute.”

We sit there in an awkward silence as he goes off to talk to whichever great-uncle or powerful family ally has suddenly decided that enough is enough and it’s time to take down the Mage. Daphne clears her throat and gives me what I think is meant to be an encouraging smile. I try to smile back, but all I can manage is that face you make when you see a vague acquaintance in the street.

I spend the next minute steeling myself for what is probably going to be the worst conversation of my life, but when my dad does finally come back, the words die in my throat.

His face is ashen. Dead ashen.

“The Mage has seized our estate,” he says, his voice cold and disconnected, “and his men have burnt the library to the ground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never liked abusive!Malcolm stuff because of the epilogue, so if you’re expecting that in the next chapter then… don’t? I guess? Yeah. I think Malcolm loves Baz, and it’s just going to take him awhile to get there. I also think Natasha really loves Baz, and I think if she’d lived he would have changed some of her opinions about magical creatures.


	8. That Would Be Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grimm-Pitch family is Trying Their Best ft. Simon has a rude awakening  
> Also a whole lot of Daphne appreciation because she DESERVES it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments, and everyone who just takes the time out of their day to read this story! I’m so sorry about the scheduling, I was really just way too optimistic and pushing myself way too hard. So thank you all for bearing with me!
> 
> Also like, does anybody know is Dev is from the Grimm side or the Pitch side? Because I assumed Grimm since all the Pitches are dead but he could have had like a mother/grandmother whose maiden name was Pitch. I don’t think they specify in Carry On but I haven’t read Fangirl so like, I don’t know if it’s ever been mentioned.
> 
> Shoutouts are lame but it's 2am and A Stroke of the Brush by jessejoyful just hit everything for me. Check it out for a good art school AU: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488646/chapters/35955267

**Baz**

When I was very young, my mother and I spent our summers in the library.

“All right, Ty-ty,” she’d say. “Put them together, and unzip your feet. Good. Left foot forward. There you go!” Then she’d hand me the bow. “Make a bunny,” she’d say. “Let the bunny eat the carrot. There you go. One ear down, little ear up. Little ear up, Ty-ty. Good.” Then she’d have me pull the violin up and hold it with my chin. “Now let go,” she’d say, holding her hand beneath the violin, to see if I would drop it without my hand there. I never did. “Good,” she’d say. “Excellent. Now bow on the strings.” And I’d put my left hand back on the neck, and she’d hold my right elbow in place, to make sure I didn’t move it while I played. “Little ear up, Ty-ty,” she’d remind me, adjusting my pinky. “Keep the bow in place. Remember to hold it with your chin. Your hands should do nothing but play.”

The library is gone now. Nothing but ash and charcoal.

“...should be easy enough to fix,” says one of the Mage’s Men. “Magickally, I mean. A few simple spells.”

“And might I ask why the Mage deemed it necessary to  _ burn down our library?” _ my father demands. His voice is cold and quiet. He doesn’t get loud-angry. He gets quiet-angry. He can be quite terrifying when he wants to be.

Fiona, on the other hand, gets loud-angry. I can hear her basically screaming down one of the younger Mage’s Men. Bunce’s brother, I think. He looks terrified. Fiona’s throwing sparks. I almost feel bad for the bastard. I  _ would _ feel bad for the bastard, if I had any room in my heart right now.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. Daphne. She went off to make a phone call, check on the littluns. They were staying with their grandmother. (Daphne’s mother, not my grandmother.) She’s got no connections to the Old Families, aside from Daphne, so I figure they’re probably safe. Still.

“Kids all right?” I ask.

“Mm,” she hums tiredly. “Didn’t even know it had happened.”

I nod. Daphne pulls me into a hug. I let her.

“I’m sorry about the library, Basil. I… I know it meant a lot to you.”

“S’all right,” I say. “Just a room, right?”

Daphne presses a kiss to my temple.

It’s this sort of thing, why I don’t resent Daphne. She’s never tried to replace my mother. She always just tries to be…  _ a _ mother, I guess. Like Fiona does.

Our house was dark and dusty and practically non-functional for two years after my mother died. Then one day Daphne came over for a social call (she was one of my father’s coworkers at the time) and she basically took one look at the place and told my dad that her inner neat freak was going into anaphylactic shock and just… coated the place in cleaning spells. Turned our house completely inside out. My dad just stood there in shock. I thought it was brilliant. I kept toddling after her through the house, trying to mimic her spells despite the fact that I didn’t have a wand yet. Fiona even took out an earbud to watch.

Daphne started coming over all the time after that, to make sure my dad was maintaining the cleaning spells, or to make sure we were actually cooking our meals ( _ “Takeaway is not a food group, Malcolm.” _ ), or just to sit around and chat. She used to bring me sweets, and when she found out my mum had written down the Watford cherry scone recipe, she started making those for us, too.

I don’t know when she and my dad started dating, but I know that sometime near the end of that year Daphne asked me my permission to marry him. (Which was probably just a formality, but I appreciate it nonetheless.) I said yes, of course. They had a lovely little wedding. Family only. Then Daphne moved in, and Fiona moved out. We were almost like a normal family again.

I don’t think we would’ve made it without her.

Daphne squeezes me tightly, like she’s remembering, too. “It’ll be all right, Basil,” she says. “The Mage can’t keep doing this forever. One of these days the Coven will wake up and realize what kind of person they’ve elected.” She sighs. “Just you see.”

The Mage’s Men finally leave, once they’ve decided our family has been properly threatened. Daphne goes over to my dad to calm him down. He’s not throwing sparks like Fiona, but I’d say he’s pretty close. Daphne’s the only one of us who doesn’t have the fire, which means she’s the one who’s always putting it out.

I don’t know what to do with myself, so I wander over to Fiona. She’s off in a corner, kicking grass around like it’s the Mage himself.

“Fuck the Mage,” she spits when she sees me. “Fuck that godawful bastard. Thinks he can just push people around, burn their fucking houses down, cause he’s got that dumbass costume and those dumbass Merry Men following him around. Someone ought to burn  _ him _ , yeah? See how he likes it.”

“That would be treason, Fi,” I say, kicking a pebble in her direction. She makes a face and kicks it away.

“Who gives a fuck,” she mutters. “Fucking bastard. I fucking dare him to arrest me.”

Fiona swears a lot when she’s angry. (She swears a lot, full stop.)

I leave her to her treason, and leave my dad to his stewing, and look up at the library. It’s not like I  _ don’t _ know why the Mage burned it down. It was filled to the brim with rare books, most of them probably illegal, and he wanted to set an example.  _ If we can get to the Pitches, we can get to anyone. _ But I don’t entirely know why the Mage  _ burned it down. _ You’d think he’d want to hold onto an archive as valuable as ours.

Maybe it was for the irony. Or maybe he thought that we’d be inside.

But if he wanted us dead, why would he pick the one day the house was empty?

 

**The Mage**

I couldn’t let them know what I’ve been looking for. I can’t trust Malcolm Grimm, any more than I can trust his son. If they’d noticed what I took, which spells I’m using… 

Basilton Grimm-Pitch is Simon’s roommate. And he’s powerful. The Anathema is strong, but all it takes is one second.

He could burn the place down, like his mother did.

He could go out like a shot, and take Simon with him.

I need him afraid of me. I need all of them afraid of me. And I need them all completely in the dark.

Even Simon.

_ Especially _ Simon.

He’s too good for this war.

 

**Simon**

I don’t have any idea what’s happened until Penny nearly breaks down my door.

“Simon!” she says as she bursts in ,clutching her ring. She looks terrified.

“Penny?” I ask, because she was supposed to be spending the night at Agatha’s. “Why are you here? Are you all right?”

“Where’s Baz?”

“He’s with his aunt, whyー”

“The Mage just burned down their library.”

“What?”  _ What? _ I must have misheard her. There’s no wayー

“The Mage just burnt down the Pitches library. In their  _ home _ . He just set fire to their  _ home. _ ”

Her words seem to suck all the air out of the room. It’s like the Humdrum, but infinitely worse. “That can’t be right,” I say. “The Mage wouldn’t do that.”

“The Mage just  _ did _ that,” Penny says crossly. “Today. Tonight. You can be loyal to him all you want, but there’s no denyingー”

“He wouldn’t  _ do _ that,” I insist, and suddenly I have to shove my magic down, try to smother it out, because it’s all rising to the surface and I  _ cannot _ go off right now. I have to talk to Penny. I have to make her understand.

“Simon!” she snaps. “You can argue all you want about why he did it, but he did! And how is  _ that _ even the issue?”

“He wouldn’t burn down someone’s house, Penelope!”

“Well then tell that to fucking Baz!”

_ Baz. _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The Mage hates the Pitches. Hates them. And they hate him. But he wouldn’t have… He wouldn’t. But if Baz thinks he did… 

“Simon,” Penny says, and her voice is softer now. “I think you should call him. You can use my mobile.”

“Baz doesn’t carry one,” I say. “Not during school.”

“He does now,” she says.

I look at her in surprise. “What?”

“He has since we got back. His dad doesn’t think Baz is safe here anymore. And apparently, he’s right.”

I want to argue, but the words don’t come. All I can feel is this crushing weight. It’s stronger than the anger. Stronger than my magic, even.  _ Baz doesn’t feel safe here. _ I mean, I suppose I knew it, in my mind, but… I can’t imagine  _ not _ feeling safer around the Mage. I certainly can’t imagine feeling  _ un _ safe around him. But Baz does, and Baz…

“All right,” I say. “I’ll call him.”

Penny unlocks her mobile and hands it to me.

 

**Penelope**

It was downright terrifying when we found out. We were just sitting at Agatha’s after the movie (she’s close enough to Watford that we were just going to spend the night and come back tomorrow) when her mum got a call from one of her friends. The Mage’s Men had visited the Pitch estate, and they’d burnt down their library and probably done Crowley-knows-what-else to the rest of the house. Nobody knew where the family was or if anyone was hurt, just that the Old Families were in a panic and closing ranks. Agatha’s mum let us borrow the car and drive over to Watford. ( _ “We just want to check up on Simon,” _ Agatha said. Her mum gave the keys right over.) The drive over feels like an eternity. When we finally pull up to the gates, there’s practically a queue of Old Family students of all ages getting picked up by their parents.

Whatever the Mage was trying to do, I think he may have just officially declared war.

Agatha stays in the car. She’s gone a little pale and her breathing sounds off, but she’s got this steel in her eyes, so I figure she’ll be fine while I talk to Simon. I know, I just know, that I’m the one who has to tell him. Call it preemptive damage control. So he doesn’t hurt Baz.

He’s obstinate, which I was expecting, and defensive, which I was also expecting, but as soon as I mention Baz’s name he seems to deflate completely. I don’t think he’s really worked this out yet, the whole sleeping-with-the-enemy thing. I think he just assumed that if they loved each other enough it would all just go away. (Simon’s kind of a romantic like that. I still haven’t decided if I think it’s sweet or idiotic.) (Baz says it’s both.)

I hand him my mobile to call Baz and step out of the room for a minute to give them some privacy. I don’t leave the hallway, though, because I feel like I need to be there to mediate if things go badly. I don’t quite trust them not to fight.

 

**Baz**

The buzz from my pocket is the last thing I expect. The only people who ever call me are either standing right here or still at school. But then I see it’s Bunce calling, and it makes sense. She was at the cinema with Wellbelove, and Mrs. Wellbelove has connections to everyone. She must have heard what happened. I pick up.

“Bunce,” I say.

“ _ Baz, _ ” says someone who is definitely not Bunce.

“Snow?” I ask. “Is that you?”

“Are you alright? You were at your aunt’s, right? You weren’t in the house?”

So he knows. And he’s not denying it. I suppose I assumed he’d deny it. “No,” I say. “I wasn’t in the house. None of us were. We were all at Fiona’s.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “I thought you were just having dinner with her?”

“I was going to tell my family. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You  _ told _ you family?”

“No.”

There’s another pause, and I can tell he’s confused.

“We were interrupted, Snow. By the maniac who tried to burn down our house.”

“The Mage did not try to burn down your house.”

I roll my eyes and try to suppress the anger in my voice. Of course he’s fucking defending him. “I’m pretty sure he did, Snow. I can see the fucking ashes.”

“ _ He didn’t _ .” Snow says. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Then why the fuck did his Men hang around to give us the receipt?”

I can hear Snow suck in a breath. “What?”

“They gave us a receipt for the damages. Compensation for the turning in of illegal spells and literature. They’re treating it like it’s a fucking buyback program.”

There’s silence on the other end. I do my best to keep swallowing my anger, but… he can’t  _ seriously _ be taking the Mage’s side. I mean, not after everything. Not after the past three weeks.

Can he?

I almost miss it, the quiet sound from the other end.

“I’m sorry, Baz,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “I… I love you.”

The knot inside my chest loosens up a little. “I love you, too,” I say. “I’ll call you back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Goodbye, Snow.”

“‘Bye.”

My mobile makes the  _ call ended _ sound and I put it back in my pocket.

Maybe he isn’t taking the Mage’s side.

At the very least, he isn’t  _ pushing _ the Mage’s side. Which is something. On the second floor, the bits of charcoal that used to be our library start to shift around. Daphne’s casting on them. My dad, too. Fiona’s just staring up at it.

Sometimes I forget that this is her home, too. This is where she grew up. That library’s probably where she learned to read, where she and my mum would hide out when they didn’t want to do their housework.

That’s centuries of my family in those walls, love and loss and memory. Up in fucking flames.

I turn around and leave. I don’t want to watch them clear it all away.

“Basil?” my father calls.

“Getting a drink,” I say.

He doesn’t respond. He knows I don’t mean alcohol.

 

**Agatha**

I’m still trying to process this whole thing from the car when my mobile buzzes. I never take it with me to Watford (I happen to enjoy not getting expelled, thank you very much) but it was in my pocket when we left and I forgot to leave it behind. It’s Penny texting me.

    Penelope Bunce: Agatha, you there?

    Me: Yeah

    Penelope Bunce: Can we drive to Baz’s?

    Me: Why?

    Penelope Bunce: The Mage just tried to burn their house down?

    Me: They also don’t like us?

    Penelope Bunce: Baz likes us

    Me: Penny.

    Penelope Bunce: Agatha.

    Me: Who’s asking, you or Simon?

    Penelope Bunce: Me  
    Penelope Bunce: ...and Simon

    Me: Fine. Come down. But we’re not staying long

Penny doesn’t respond, so I lean against the window and wait. Most of the people are gone now, but there are still a few people leaving. I can see at least three family fights going on, mostly with the younger kids, but some of them are in our year. I spot Dev, Baz’s cousin, arguing with someone who’s probably his mother. Niall is hanging around behind him with his hands in his pockets. He’s not talking to anybody, so I guess he’s just there for Dev.

I haven’t talked to either of them that much, but out of everyone in our group, I’ve talked to them the most. (Besides Baz, obviously.) When Niall sees me looking at him he takes his hands out of his pockets and wanders over.

“All right, Agatha?” he says.

“All right,” I say. (I don’t love that phrase, it’s so impersonal, but how else am I supposed to respond?)

“You hear about the Mage?”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling down my window more so it’s less awkward. Niall leans against the roof of the car.

“You think this means war? Like, proper war?”

It’s surprisingly forward, but I guess he and dev have been sort of absorbed into our friend group.

“I don’t know what it means,” I say. “It means the Mage hates old books, but we already knew that.”

Niall snorts. “Yeah,” he said. “Mad bastard thinks he can just burn down whatever he fucking likes, yeah? And nobody’s going to stop him.”

“ _ Is _ somebody going to stop him?”

Niall give me a Baz-worthy smirk and taps the side of his nose.

“Is that a yes?” I hate the secret signalling. It drives me up the wall. Like, just fucking say it. What difference does it make? Everybody knows the Old Families are anti-Mage.

But Niall just keeps smirking. “Now that would be treason, wouldn’t it?” he says cheekily.

“What would be treason?” Penny asks.

She’s come up to the car without either of us noticing, a frazzled-looking Simon in tow. Niall straightens up and looks between them. His eyes fix on Simon. “Nothing,” he says. “Just a joke.”

Simon shifts and looks down. He looks really uncomfortable. I guess I would be too, if I were in his shoes.

“Can we just go?” Simon asks.

“Go where?” asks Niall.

“Baz’s house,” says Penelope.

“Why, so you can rub it in?”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Because we’re his  _ friends _ ,” she says, marching around to the back seat.

Niall snorts and raises his eyebrows at Simon. Simon’s face flushes.

“Simon,” Penny says sharply.

He steps around Niall and hops into the car.

I give Niall what I hope is a smile and not a grimace. He makes a noise and steps away. He watches us back out, hands in his pockets, until we’re driving away with all the Watford parents. The look he gives us makes me uneasy.

 

**Niall**

There’s something going on with them. And it’s not just the Mage’s golden trio. Penelope bloody Bunce just called herself Baz’s friend. Just called  _ Simon _ Baz’s friend. Simon Snow, his sworn enemy, who he’s also been sitting with nearly every bloody day since we got back from holiday.

It’s the bloody girlfriend thing that’s bothering me. I don’t think he has one. But I don’t think he was properly lying, either. I think he was trying to cover something up.

Agatha isn’t Baz’s girlfriend. That one’s blatantly clear.

Penelope probably isn’t his girlfriend, seeing as he’s practically gagged every time we’ve asked him.

A mad thought occurs to me. It’s really bloody mad thought, but it’s one I’ve had before. I would just dismiss it like usual, but, well, isn’t that just the proper kind of bullshit Baz’d get himself into?

Dev bet me ten pounds he’s gay, way back in fifth year, because he never said shit about girls. It didn’t matter how fit they were, he barely gave them a second glance. But he never payed the blokes any mind either, and he got pissed off to all hell whenever we joked about it, so in sixth year I bet Dev another ten pounds he’s asexual. (Yeah, I know what asexual is. I’m not a bloody numpty.) We never got Baz to admit to anything, though.

Dev made me pay up for the asexual bit when Baz said he had a girlfriend, and I made him pay up for the gay bit, so we basically just swapped notes, but now I’m wondering if maybe I owe Dev that tenner, after all.

It’d be just like that bastard to get tangled up with Simon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last few chapters have felt a little all over the place to me and I might rewrite them once the rest of the story is done, but I’ve been trying to get some particular plot pieces together in a reasonable amount of time and I don’t know if it’s working or not. Please let me know if there’s anything glaring obvious I’m doing wrong, I’d really like to fix it.


	9. A Decent House Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon doesn’t always think through his plans. Like showing up at his boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night in his ex-girlfriend’s Volvo. Granted, the plan was Penny’s, but Simon still didn’t think it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments! I haven’t responded to nearly enough of them but I promise I’ve read them all and I really appreciate it! It’s just that social interaction is really draining (even online lol) so I get anxious n stuff but yeah. Thank you!!
> 
> Also a particular thank-you to Christina+Chandler for pointing out a typo in the the last chapter. I don’t always catch everything when I’m editing, so please let me know if anything looks off.

**Baz**

The Mage’s Men were right about the cleanup, at least. I took longer than usual to feed, because I was angry enough that I ended up with deer blood all down my chin, but by the time I came back, my parents and Fiona had vanished away the charred library and rebuilt the structure of the room. The books are gone, of course, obviously, so nobody could ever tell that it was supposed to be a library, but the glass is back in the windows (they shattered from the heat), and the walls are back up, and I suppose that will have to do.

I think I might actually be in shock, a bit. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know  _ how _ to think. Nobody’s said anything, since the Mage’s Men left. It’s fucking typical in this household, but I always thought that politics was the one thing we  _ could _ talk about, especially when it came to the Mage’s illegal exploits. Though I guess this attack is personal enough that we won’t be discussing it outside of meetings with the Families.

And that’s another thing, isn’t it? There’s going to be a meeting with the Families, and something this big could mean war. Full-on war. And war means fighting. Means me fighting Snow. Means me  _ killing _ Snow, or trying to anyway.

_ “Or not,” _ whispers the Simon in my mind, but I ignore him. I just can’t make myself  _ hope _ today.

The whole house smells like smoke, and I can feel it in my lungs. It’s unbearable. I feel like it’s choking me. Like, intentionally choking me. All I can think of is that damnable nursery.

I practically run into my room and slam the door, throwing the windows open like Snow does despite the fact that it’s still January and it’s fucking freezing outside. I need the fresh air. I’ve got enough fire and brimstone in my life without my room fucking smelling like it. I collapse back onto my bed and try to stop myself from shaking. Then I realize that the cold is just making me shiver even worse, so I kick off my shoes and curl up under the blankets. It hardly does anything though, because I’m so used to sleeping next to Simon the Bloody Heat Generator Snow. I bury my face in my pillow and try not to think about the sound of his voice when I told him about the Mage’s Men at our house.

If I’m being honest, I don’t  _ want _ the Mage to be evil. I want him to be good. I want him to be doing this out of some misguided, ill-informed sense of justice. I want to be there for Simon. I want him to be the fucking father figure he’s set himself up to be.

I sigh into my pillow.

I want to go the fuck to sleep.

I don’t actually know if I manage to sleep or not, but I assume that I do, because the darkness in my room feels different than it did before when I hear my mobile ring. I tug it out of my pocket and answer it without checking the caller ID.

“Basil!” says a voice from the other end. “It’s Penny.”

I really should be nicer to the three of them, but old habits die hard.

“The fuck do you want, Bunce?”

 

**Simon**

There are many, many reasons this is a terrible idea, but I don’t think of any of them until we’re parked outside Pitch manor in Agatha’s Volvo. For one, it’s the middle of the night right now, and while it’s not nearly late enough for the entire family to be asleep, it  _ is _ late enough that I don’t particularly want to ring their doorbell. Secondly, while I did spend a fair amount of time in house over the holiday, I’m realizing now that I may not be so welcome this soon after the Mage, well, after he attacked them.

I don’t know what else to call it, really. Baz  _ saw the Mage’s Men at his house. _ They gave his dad a  _ receipt  _ for the damages _. _ And Baz may have an irrational hatred of the Mage, but he wouldn’t lie about something like this. Not to me. (Plus, Penny seems to believe him, and Penny is usually right.)

I want to say I have no idea why the Mage would attack Pitch manor, but that isn’t true, is it? I know exactly why the Mage would attack them.  _ To fight back. To threaten the Families. To prove a point. _ It’s just that all of the reasons turn my stomach and make my chest feel all tense and constricted. Because not one of those reasons is that they deserved it. Not one.

Mr. Grimm is terrifying, and he looks even more like a supervillain than Baz does, but he’s soft around Daphne and he’s soft around the kids and sometimes he’s even soft around Baz until he sees me in the room. Daphne is soft pretty much all the time, and she basically runs the whole household, and she always offers me more food, no matter how much I’ve already eaten. Baz is, well,  _ Baz, _ and his siblings are too young and too obsessed with football and cartoons to be evil. Mordelia even seems to like me. (She kind of idolizes Baz. It’s adorable.)

None of them  _ deserve _ to have part of their home  _ burnt down. _ None of them deserve to live in constant fear of leaving the house, in case some shadowy figure comes back to finish the job. Like, that is some real villain shit. Doesn’t the Mage  _ see _ that? Doesn't he  _ see _ what this looks like? Doesn’t he  _ care? _

“Simon,” Penny says, rapping on my window. She and Agatha are already out of the car. Agatha looks as unsure as I feel about this whole thing, but Penny’s got her resolved face on. She whips out her mobile.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Calling Baz. Unless you fancy ringing the doorbell.”

I shake my head, and she presses the mobile to her ear.

“Basil! It’s Penny.” There’s a pause. “No need to be so sharp with me. I’ve brought you your idiot boyfriend.” Another pause. “Come downstairs, then.” She waits a moment, then hangs up and puts the mobile back in her pocket.

It’s a matter of seconds before the door opens, and I don’t even have enough time to realize that  _ there’s no way Baz could get down here that quickly _ before the door opens and we’re all standing face-to-face with very cross-looking Fiona. She’s got that white-streaked hair yanked back in a messy ponytail, and she’s got some weird grunge thing going on that doesn’t quite work with the fluffy Christmas socks she’s wearing.

She quirks an eyebrow at us, and I have to stop myself from laughing nervously at such a familiar gesture in such a tense moment.

“Snow,” she says, because apparently she calls me Snow, too. “And let me guess, Penelope Bunce and Agatha Wellbelove.” She’s got an edge to her voice, like she’s too done to even be sarcastic right now.

I hear footsteps behind her, so I look past her into the dimly lit house to see Baz walking towards us, cool as can be, in the same clothes he was wearing when he left our room earlier today.

“Snow,” he says lightly. “Bunce. Wellbelove. All right?”

Fiona turns to him with murder in her eyes. “Basilton,” she says. She drags it out, so you can hear the syllables in his name.

“Fiona,” he says, his voice unwavering.

She holds his gaze for a moment, like she’s about to dig into him, and then  _ Baz _ quirks an eyebrow at  _ her. _ Fiona exhales heavily and steps back from the door, shaking her head.

“Your  _ boyfriend’s _ foster father tries to burn down our house and you invite the fucking bastard over for supper?”

“Just the boyfriend,” Baz says (even though he didn’t technically invite us), “Not the foster father. And besides, it’s too late for supper.”

“Oh, right, because  _ that’s _ a major fucking relief,” she mutters. “Christ, Baz.”

I’m not sure what I’m more shocked about, the fact that Fiona knows we’re together (I thought he didn’t get a chance to tell his family?) or the fact that she swears like a Normal. First year, Baz used to tease me  _ endlessly _ for swearing like a Normal. (Probably because I  _ am _ kind of a Normal, but still.) (Hypocrite.)

Fiona wanders off into the house, still shaking her head, and calls out, “Just don’t fucking shag him on any of the furniture.”

Baz, at least, has the decency to blush. I know for sure that  _ I _ am.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Baz calls back.

I hear what must be a pretty loud snort from off where the kitchen is.

“Well,” Baz says, turning to us, “aren’t you going to come in?”

The foyer (I still can’t get over the fact they have a  _ foyer _ ) is pretty much the same as it was before, except everything smells faintly of smoke now.

“It smells like Simon in here,” says Agatha.

Penny and Baz both laugh, the traitors. I make a face, and Baz kisses me on the cheek. He gives me a once-over as I’m taking off my shoes.

“Snow,” he says in what I think is mock surprise. “No dirt? No mud? No countryside? Could it be? Have you finally decided to be a decent house guest?”

I smack his arm lightly. He laughs again. Penny and Agatha share a look.

“I assume you’ll all be sleeping here,” Baz drawls, “seeing as it’s past supper and half the house is asleep.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Penny asks.

“I doubt it,” he says. “See, as long as you lot are here, there’s a very low chance of the Mage coming back. Wouldn’t do for him to set fire to our curtains while his Heir is in the house.”

And that’s when I realize that Baz has been surprisingly cheerful. Like,  _ fake _ cheerful. Which is not like him. I’ve known Baz to fake misery all the time. I’ve never known him to fake cheerful. (I  _ think _ I’ve never known him to fake cheerful.) (Does he fake cheerful all the time?) (Would I even notice if he did?)

But Baz doesn’t miss a beat. “Bunce and Wellbelove can stay in the guest room. The bed’s big enough, if you don’t mind sharing it.”

“We don’t,” Agatha says, which is weird? But for right now I add it to  _ Things to Possibly Think About Later  _ and move on.

“Isn’t there a wraith in your guest room?” I ask.

“Yes, but it’s scared of me, so if it has any sense at all it’ll be scared of Bunce, too.”

Penelope snorts and grins. “Much obliged, Basil.” (I think she’s actually the only person outside of his family who calls him “Basil.”)

“Do you lot want, like, tea or something?” Baz asks.

“Yes,” says Agatha, immediately. Penny gives her a look. “What? I’ve been driving you two around for the past hour at least. I’m allowed to have some tea.”

“Anyone else?” Baz asks. “And yes, Snow, there will be scones.”

I give him a small smile.

“I won’t turn down the scones,” I say.

“And  _ I _ won’t turn down the tea, if you’re making it anyway,” says Penny.

 

And that’s how the four of us wind up having tea and scones in Baz’s kitchen (which Fiona had thankfully vacated before we came in) at half-past eleven at night.

Baz refuses to talk about the fire, which is understandable, I think, and after a while Penny gives up on trying to make him. Agatha manages to turn the conversation to “Into the Woods,” which Baz apparently loves, which is confusing, because didn’t it  _ just _ come out in cinemas? Baz and Agatha explain that it’s adapted from a musical, which seems pretty pointless to me, since the musical was already on film.

“It’s called  _ cinematography, _ Snow,” says Baz.

“Plus, the movie has Meryl Streep,” adds Agatha.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Meryl Streep as much as the next person, but can she hold up to Bernadette Peters?”

“Well, she doesn’t quite hit that scream at the end of Last Midnight, but…”

I tune out a little. It’s not that I don’t care (I’m really trying to care), I just have no idea what they’re talking about.

Penny smirks at me and sips her tea.  _ See? _ I imagine her saying.  _ I told you Baz could use some company. _ I doubt this is what she meant, exactly, the four of us sipping tea while Baz and Agatha debate musical theater, but Penny  _ was _ right. And this is kind of… nice. Once I replace the weird lingering Baz/Agatha-related jealousy in my stomach with a full plate of scones. At some point Baz leans his head against mine, so I can feel the vibrations of his voice as he talks about… maybe Into the Woods? Maybe something else? I can’t really tell. I think I actually may have seen the musical with Agatha, but I don’t really remember it. I have a hard time watching things without a happy ending.

 

**Penelope**

It’s always nice to see these two idiots actually making smart decisions (even if I had to explicitly tell them what to do). The fact that Baz and Agatha are getting on is just an added bonus.

I don’t like to stereotype, but Baz’s emphatic critiques of musical theater castings are making me wonder how we didn’t know he was gay. And Agatha’s equally emphatic defenses make me wonder why it took them both dating Simon for these two to become friends. I do allow myself a bit of smugness at knowing I was right about their ridiculous love-triangle dynamic. It  _ was _ idiotic. And apparently, completely pointless. I think Agatha might not even  _ want  _ to be a mage, much less a Grimm-Pitch. And Simon and Baz are being revoltingly cute. (As if we can’t all tell they’re holding hands under the table.)

Everyone’s having such a good time, in fact, that it takes Simon falling asleep  _ twice _ on Baz’s shoulder for everyone to realize that it’s probably time to go to bed. Baz spells the dishes clean and sends them into the cabinets with a flick of his wand. (Which is i _ mpressive, _ I must admit.) Then he leads Agatha and me up to the guest bedroom.

“Room wraith,” he says upon opening the door, “meet Penelope Bunce. She’s just like me, but probably deadlier, because unlike me, she has something to live for.” Simon jabs him in the ribs, and he laughs.

Agatha and I have no pyjamas, so Baz gets us some of his old tee shirts, which is, like, mildly weird, but I figure he doesn’t want to wake up his stepmum to ask for some of hers. (And it makes Simon look jealous, which I find hilarious.) It also means that Agatha and I both smell like cedar and bergamot, which isn’t really a problem, but it’s something I associate so strongly with Simon and Baz’s room that it seems out of place in this creaking Victorian mansion. We also have no toothbrushes, so I cast  **say cheese!** on the both of us (it keeps your teeth clean, but it kind of tastes like mozzarella) and we climb into bed.

It isn’t until the next morning that I realize that neither of Baz’s parents know we’re in his house.


	10. Not an Idiot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Grimm-Pitch is not an idiot. Davy we’re not so sure about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little bit different. If you absolutely hate it then let me know lol. Otherwise you might get my random thought pieces strewn throughout the story. (You might anyway but if y’all don’t like them I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.) So yeah lol. Let me know.
> 
> Also THANK YOU to all the people who leaves likes and comments, and to all the people who bookmark and subscribe because this story? Has 90 subscriptions? Like I just checked the subscriptions thing for the first time in the stats page and what the frick?? Like 90 people actually like this story enough to check their damn email for it and if that isn’t love I don’t know what is. So thank you guys so much and please please please let me know what you like and what you don’t! Constructive criticism is always welcome <3

**The Mage**

How many times have I heard it before? The answer should have been obvious.

_What makes Simon Snow the Chosen One? That he can level a forest in the span of a few seconds?_

_Natasha Grimm-Pitch could do that. And when she did it, she did it on purpose._

Nobody talked about what Natasha was like growing up, but someone that powerful…

People used to joke that she was the Greatest Mage. Back when the Greatest Mage was just a joke.

I _know_ she wasn’t the Greatest Mage. She wasn’t powerful enough.

But maybe, just maybe, she might have come close.

 

**Natasha**

Ebeneza was the first person I met with powers like me. The Pettys weren’t one of the families we usually talked to, so we didn’t see her that often, but Fi and Nico always got on well.

Mum always said that I was an absolute powerhouse. Even she couldn’t keep up with me some of the time. She didn’t have the fire, either (that came from Dad), so she couldn’t control it like I could. Except… sometimes I _couldn’t_ control the fire. Sometimes when I was angry, or upset, or scared, the fire would just… go. _Whoosh_. No more bedsheets. No more curtains. Once when I was four, I got lost out in the forest by our house, and I nearly burned the whole thing down before Dad came and found me. It happened sometimes, he said, to powerful magicians. The magic just sort of… slipped out. I had to learn to control it, or it would just keep happening.

I didn’t always have to use the spells, either. Sometimes I could just say something with enough _force_ , enough _meaning,_ and my magic would just… roll with it. Which is how I found out about Ebb, actually. She and her brother Nico were over to see Fiona, and the three of them _would not leave me alone._ It got to the point where Fiona and I were just about screaming at each other (we didn’t always get on so well) while the Pettys just hovered. I remember Nico at least had the decency to look embarrassed. At some point in the argument I shouted at Fiona to **get the bloody hell out of my room** , a made-up spell which had sent her careening out into the hallway on several occasions, but only when I was well and truly pissed off. Except this time she didn’t, because Ebeneza stepped in front of her, and even though I felt the magic flood out of me, Fiona stayed exactly where she was. Ebb took in a sharp breath and stepped backwards a little, but that was it. Later on, she told me she’d “absorbed” my spell, enveloped it in her own magic and let it just… fizzle out. I’d never heard of it before. I looked into their family a bit after they left, and they were absolutely littered with people like Ebb. People like me. I started digging in deeper.

The first thing I learned is that powerful mages were almost always dramatized. Ridiculously so. It didn't matter who they were, or how inconsequentially they lived their lives. If they had power, that was all anybody would talk about. I read a full twenty-page chapter of _Petty Magicks: A Family History_ on Protea Petty, who lived in the 17th century and grew onions “with such magickal fervor, it was said her onions could reach maturity in just three months, instead of the usual 100 to 175 days.” It was somewhere around that chapter that I gave up on the Petty family and started looking into my own family’s history. It was a lot of fire and brimstone (Isn’t it always, with us Pitches?) but that was about it. I scoured our library at home. I searched the one at school at least a dozen times. Nothing. Nobody had ever heard of someone speaking magic into words that weren’t spells.

I tried mentioning it at supper once. It didn’t go well. To be fair, it was a dinner my parents were hosting, and there were a few of my parents’ friends there, but I’d thought they were all as close to us as family. That was the night I learned about the Old Families. All these people I’d grown up with, ones I’d called Aunt and Uncle my whole life, they weren’t family. They weren’t friends. They were _allies._ And they wanted my power.

 

**The Mage**

Her journals are written in Arabic. I suppose I should have anticipated that. I can read a little, but I’m going to have to cast a translating spell at some point.

 

**Natasha**

Malcolm was the only one who wasn’t after my power. I think his parents wanted him to be, but he never quite managed it. Our first day at Watford, he introduced himself with the confidence of a baby deer, and he didn’t get much more menacing than that.

 _“H-Hiya,”_ he said, _“I’m Malcolm. Malcolm Grimm.”_

 _“Natasha,”_ I said. _“Pitch.”_

_“I know.”_

I raised an eyebrow at him. I’d seen Mum do it a thousand times, and I’d been practicing all summer.

Malcolm flushed. _“I mean, Iー I’ve heard about you. A lot.”_

 _“From your parents?”_ I asked. The Grimms had never been particularly powerful. They were usually invited to family events out of courtesy, but only ever a few of them at a time. Mum said they were power-hungry, that I should expect to be approached by quite a few of them at school.

 _“Yes,”_ he said, looking around like he was embarrassed. _“They, um, they said that I should… that I should try to… be your friend.”_

I smiled at him. _“Then tell your parents you’ve succeeded,”_ I said, and walked away. I felt immensely proud of myself for coming up with that on the spot. (I _still_ feel immensely proud of myself for coming up with that on the spot.)

 

**The Mage**

The only words I can make out consistently are “Malcolm Grimm.” His name is _everywhere_. If I’d wanted to read the fantasies of some simpering schoolgirl there would have been easier ways to do it.

 

**Natasha**

I hope Davy knows he’s not going to find anything. I’m not an idiot. I know how to keep my secrets hidden. The second you write a secret down, it stops being a secret and starts being a commodity. All Davy will ever find is schoolwork and notes about Malcolm. If he ever wants to help that boy, he’ll just have to find his information somewhere else.

Malcolm could help that boy. Or Fiona. Maybe even Ebb, if he asked her for help. _Simon Snow._

Simon Snow Salisbury.

I’m not blind, I can see the Lucy in him. It’s a wonder to me that nobody else can.

Well, I suppose if my son is going to fall for a boy, he may as well fall for a Salisbury.

 

**The Mage**

She talks about the Salisburys in here. I never knew they had ties to the Old Families. I thought they were like the Pettys, or the Wellbeloves. Old, sure, and up to their ears in prejudice, but not immune to change. Lucy never mentioned knowing Natasha, but perhaps her brother did…

 

**Natasha**

I know that Lucy’s dead. Everyone said she’d run off to America, but I know that can’t be true. I can feel her sometimes, like a whisper. Just… there. Waiting. I think she’s watching over Simon.

 

**The Mage**

Maybe this whole thing is just pointless. I should move on, put down her journals, look at some of the other books. But I can’t _help_ it. I want to know. I _have_ to know.

There were rumors, of course. There are always rumors. But are they true? Did she ever…?

 

**Natasha**

Go off? That’s a nice way to put it. _Going off._ That’s what it feels like. Like all your magic is just ripping its way through your body until the world is nothing, until _you_ are nothing.

It feels like a bomb. Like _becoming_ a bomb.

What Davy doesn’t seem to realize is just how _common_ it really is. Any child with an ounce of power will probably go off at some point in their lives. The question is really about _when they grow out of it._ Most people stop going off around the same time they stop throwing tantrums. For some people, like me or Ebb or Nicodemus, it keeps happening awhile after, until you can finally get a handle on it. For Simon Snow, it just… _stays._

I don’t think it’s permanent.

If you want my opinion, I’d say it’s the abuse. The neglect. He never learned to speak properly, he never learned to control his emotions, so when he gets upset the magic just comes pouring out. Like some kind of twisted coping mechanism. If it were my job to train him, I’d start with therapy and work my way up from there. Teach him how to let some of the steam off of his magic. After all, the easiest way to get rid of magic is to use it. (Constantly. For everything.) (I don’t think I’ve properly cleaned a dish since I was six years old.)

Though Simon Snow, of course, is not me. Whatever Davy did to make him this way (there’s no way he just _happened_ to conceive the Greatest Mage as an act of random coincidence), it gave Simon far more power than any mage was meant to have. Part of me pities Simon for having a father like him. I mean, really. Davy may be powerful, but there are certain tiers of power. There’s the kind of powerful that can recite nursery rhymes till their dying breath, and then there’s the kind of powerful that can bend the world to their will with a couple lines of Van Halen. (Or the Ramones, if you’re Fiona, but she learned those spells from me.) Davy can do incredible things, I’m sure, but he will never know what it’s like to feel out of control, to feel like your magic is using you instead of the other way around. He really is the last person who should be raising Simon.

 

**The Mage**

The translation spells only make this more disappointing. Surely there must be something in here, _anything_ besides Watford and Malcolm Grimm and sour-bleeding-cherry scones.

 

**Natasha**

It’s the scones that made me like Daphne. That and the fact that she saved Malcolm. I can’t count how many nights I tried (and failed) to reach out, to say something, to try to comfort him. I saw how hard he was trying to be there for Ty ー for _Baz_ ー but he just couldn’t. It hurt at first (of course it hurt) to see him moving on, but the way she was with my baby… Baz needed a mother. And as much as I adore Fiona, she has never been the mothering type.

It takes energy, you know, to watch over people. A death like mine means being continually trapped between two doors. And sometimes, if you shove and strain and fight as hard as you can, you can get a little glimpse of what’s behind the door you came through, but the other door stays locked tight.

I think it might be purgatory. What the Normals call purgatory. Like a bad layover between the mortal world and whatever lies beyond. Most of the time I keep fighting, because even watching my family from afar is better than sitting alone in the dark nothingness, but I’ve been fighting less and less now. I have a feeling that my family doesn’t need me anymore. And besides, Baz is a teenager now, and I’m not an idiot. I don’t need to see what goes on between him and Simon Snow.

I wonder if Davy has any idea. He always claimed to be unprejudiced and open-minded, but I wonder what he’d have to say about his precious son practically living in my house. It would probably give him a heart attack. A well-deserved heart attack.

 

**The Mage**

I always knew Natasha was a self-absorbed brat, but I had higher hopes than _this._

 

**Natasha**

I absolutely hate to say it, but I’m scared of Malcolm’s reaction to Simon. You have to understand, he was raised in a very strict household. Stricter than mine. His parents never believed we married out of love. They were happier to think their only son was climbing the social ladder than to think our marriage brought him any joy. People say the Pitches are cold (Malcolm always liked to joke that he was marrying into the Mafia) but they should really meet the Grimms. There was no room for deviance in Malcolm’s life. He would find someone powerful, marry them, and pass his name on to his inevitably powerful children. (His parents hated the hyphen at first, Grimm-Pitch, until Malcolm pointed out that it tied our families together permanently.)

I don’t think he means to, but I think Malcolm has put some of that strictness into the way he parents Baz. I know I did the majority of raising Baz when he was little, because Malcolm couldn’t stay at Watford and I refused to part with my baby. And then I, well, _died_ , and Malcolm didn’t know what to do, so he fell into the only way he knew. _What you don’t talk about can’t hurt you._ It always broke my heart to hear him say things like that, to know that _that_ was how he was raised. It breaks my heart now to see him raising Baz that way. I try not to be angry with him, I really do, but…

At least Baz has Fiona.

She has to count for something.

 

**The Mage**

Nothing. Nothing! The longer I read, the more convinced I am. The margin notes in her textbooks tell me she was a bloody genius, but the paragraphs in her journals tell me she was all full of air. Surely there must be _something_ . Surely she must have _something_ to say, other than this… this… _drivel_.

I _know_ she was smarter than this.

Maybe she’s hiding something.

All these years, and that bitch is still hiding things. Well, not today.

Not from me.

I’ll turn that whole house inside-out if I have to.

 

**Natasha**

I hope Baz burns him alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, I love Natasha Grimm-Pitch with all my soul and I was a little salty that we never really got to hear much about her. Also salty at the number of people who dismiss Malcolm as just being evil and an asshole despite the epilogue or like, literally any interaction between him and Baz in the book that *clearly* shows that he loves his son but has all of these ingrained prejudices that he doesn’t know how to work through. I also think that a lot of Natasha’s political views came from a lifetime of being raised as a Pitch and that the 13ish years of being stuck between realms would teach her a thing or two about opening up her mind, because she’d really have no choice but to watch and listen (and hopefully learn).
> 
> Anyways, that was a long asf end note but yeah. If there’s anything Carry On was trying to teach It think it’s how to humanize villains and actually discuss the thought processes and societal constructs that brought them to their current viewpoints. So yeah. Hope you enjoyed lol.


	11. Let Him Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic shit + Baz has anxiety + Malcolm Grimm is Trying, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 20th was the kind of day where Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield comes bursting unceremoniously into your head for no particular reason and plays full force while you type out whole-ass essays in the comments section because people were bringing you into your maladaptive daydreaming nonsense. (And by “you” I of course mean “me,” all four times.) (So much for being productive.) (I did bake cookies, though!) But yeah. Basically thank you to the people who engaged with me and I apologize for dumping my headcanons / loose thoughts into your inboxes.
> 
> Also like, tomorrow is one full month since I started writing this fic and it’s very very different from what I had in mind but I really love writing it and I absolutely love all of the feedback and interesting conversations I’ve had with people. Like sometimes when I feel bad about myself or my writing I just look at everything you guys have had to say and I feel significantly better. So thank you all, I really really appreciate you, and here’s Chapter 11!

**Baz**

I must still be in shock. There’s no other explanation. I should have turned them away at the door. I should’ve patted Snow on the arm, thanked Bunce for bringing him out here, and sent them all on their merry way. But I didn’t. Because I’m weak. Not just for Snow, but for…

I refuse to say love. That is too pathetic, even for me.

I also refuse to say friendship, because that’s somehow _more_ pathetic, and because I already _have_ friends, thank you very much.

Either way, I let them in without thinking (or rather, Fiona let them in and then I let them stay without thinking), and now we’ve got Bunce and Wellbelove in the guest room and I’m bringing Simon Snow back into my bed and my dad is absolutely, positively going to kill me.

He’ll have to do it quickly, though, Tomorrow (Today? I think it’s early morning.) is Sunday, which means we all need to get back to Watford. Assuming my father _lets_ me go back to Watford. He can’t pull me now, though. I already missed half of last term, and I will _not_ be the first Pitch in recorded history to drop out of Watford. Even if Eighth Year is optional.

“Baz?” Snow asks. He puts a hand to my cheek, and feel myself melt into it. Shamefully. He laughs. _“Baz,”_ he says insistently.

“What?” I murmur.

“Aren’t we going to, like, _go to bed?”_

I let out a small groan (I’m exhausted, leave me alone) and let Snow tug me down the hall and into my bedroom. I don’t even bother to change in the bathroom. I just strip down to my pants and tug on a pair of pyjama bottoms. I toss another pair at Snow. He barely catches them, because he’s too busy staring at me.

 

**Simon**

Suddenly I’m wide awake. Baz should not be allowed to do this. Literally all he did was put on pyjamas and I’m blushing. And he’s not putting on a shirt, either, which means he’s probably going to sleep shirtless? And I’m going to be sleeping next to him.

“You always run about a hundred degrees, Snow.” He sounds like he’s about drop dead right now.

Fair enough, I guess. I change into the pyjama bottoms and follow Baz into bed. He doesn’t even hesitate, just burrows directly into me. And he’s _cold._ (He’s always cold. Is it a vampire thing?) (Suddenly I feel guilty about all of those fights over the window in our room.) All I can feel is his skin against mine and I will _definitely_ not be able to fall asleep for a _very_ long time.

Baz, however, is a different story.

“G’night,” he mumbles into my neck.

“Goodnight,” I say, even though I am very much awake.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Baz.”

He nuzzles into my chest. Nope, I will definitely not be sleeping. Not even when Baz starts to snore against my skin.

 

**Baz**

I was out basically the moment I can feel his breath in my hair. I fell asleep curled in Snow’s arms and I wake up tangled in his limbs. Then I get about thirty seconds of staring at his face before I remember exactly _how much_ my father is going to kill me. _Particularly_ now. He may not know that Simon’s my boyfriend, but he _does_ know that Snow’s foster father/mentor/whatever the fuck the Mage is to him just burnt down our library less than twenty-four hours ago. So this is probably not going to go over well.

“Snow,” I say, attempting to disentangle myself.

“Hng,” says Snow, clinging like an octopus.

“Snow,” I say again. “Snow, we have to get up. _Simon._ ”

He grins sleepily. “Y’called me Simon,” he says.

“Yes, I did, now _let me up._ ”

“No,” he says, and drags me closer.

“We have to get _up,_ love, unless _you_ fancy explaining to my father why I’m sleeping in your arms.”

He groans again and rolls onto his back, releasing me from his death grip. I climb out of bed and grab some clothes. (Ordinary clothes, not the Watford ones.) (Snow loses his shit when I wear jeans.) I also pick up Simon’s Watford uniform from the floor and lay it over the bed.

I realize suddenly that we both changed _in front of each other_ and I barely even noticed (Snow noticed), and then I have to take a moment to process that. Am I already _used_ to this? To dating him? The one thing I’ve wanted since starting Watford and I’m already acting like it’s completely _normal?_ What if I’m not trying hard enough? I always act like I have to maintain a certain air of… something. Some sarcastic bullshit. But I don’t really _need_ to maintain it, do I? I just sort of _do_ , because it’s a habit, because I don’t know how _else_ I’m supposed to actー

“Baz,” says Simon. He’s sat up by my pillows, but he scoots over to the edge of the bed to be near me. “Baz, I can tell you’re thinking, so just… don’t, okay? Or you can, um, tell me. Like, whatever it is, if it’s your dad or whatever, you can tell me, but just don’t… brood.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are too.”

I roll my eyes at him. He smiles.

“It’s almost worse than the plotting.”

I try to make a face at him, but I can’t help it; I’m smiling, too.

Seemingly content that he’s cheered me up again, Simon hops out of bed and wanders into the bathroom. He wanders back out about two minutes later looking no less asleep but slightly more damp (I can only assume he washed his face) and asks me for a shirt.

“I just layed out your uniform, Snow.”

“You gave Penny and Agatha your shirts. Why can’t I have one?”

I smirk and _tsk_ him teasingly. “So possessive,” I say, grabbing another tee shirt.

He drops his voice. “Do you _want_ me to be possessive?”

I freeze, shirt in hand. There’s an awkward pause.

“I was kidding, Baz.”

“Obviously,” I say, handing him the shirt. I am definitely, definitely blushing.

Simon attempts to quirk an eyebrow at me (the absolute idiot looks like he’s having a stroke) but he doesn’t say anything. He just tugs the shirt on and allows me to go make my bed in shame. I want to toss his clothes back on the floor in retaliation, but I’m not a child, so I just fold them up and drop them onto the couch where Simon slept that first night.

“The Sex Pistols?” he asks, out of nowhere.

I turn to see him holding out the hem of the shirt, trying to read it. It’s got a picture of the Queen with her eyes blocked out and sure enough, it’s got _“God Save the Queen - The Sex Pistols”_ written across the front of it.

“It’s probably from Fiona,” I say. “She likes to think she’s punk.” I go back to making the bed.

“Is that what the swearing’s about?

“What?”

“She swears like a Normal.”

“ _You_ swear like a Normal.”

“Only when I’m really angry! Or else you’d never stop taking the piss about it.”

I feel a flash of guilt. I really have been unnecessarily cruel to him. Snow doesn’t bring it up much, because I always feel guilty about it, but that only makes me feel _more_ guilty when he does bring it up, because I know how much he _isn’t_ bringing up. Like with most things in my life, it’s a vicious cycle that begins and ends with me.

 _“Baz,”_ Snow says. I have no idea when he got so close to me, but he’d directly behind me and it makes me jump. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Sorry, just… _Things Not to Think About,_ yeah?”

I can hear the capitalization in his voice. Simon’s got this ridiculous list of all the things he’s not allowed to think about. From what I can tell, it’s more or less everything in his life, from whether or not he’ll survive the Humdrum to whether or not he’s actually gay. (I’m pretty sure he’s bi or something, but he won’t listen to me at all on the subject.) The whole list thing is completely pointless and the only result that I can see is Simon becoming less proactive and more _re_ active as the years go on, but still, I don’t want him to worry about me.

“All right,” I agree. “Things Not to Think About: how much of an asshole the Chosen One’s boyfriend is.”

“You’re _not_ an asshole.”

“I am, a little.”

Snow sighs and wraps his arms around me from behind. “Fine,” he says, “maybe a little. Lucky for you, I like bad boys.”

I make a face at him. “Please never say that ever again.”

“I promise I’ll never say that again if you promise to be nicer to yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need to be nicer to myself.”

“You have more self-hatred than anyone else I know!”

“And you have the emotional maturity of a sour cherry scone.”

Simon snorts. “For the record, I got that reference. Vampires, Baz, really?”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece!”

“It’s a nineties tv show.”

“And yet you’ve watched enough of it to get my reference.”

“Fuck off,” he says, which means I’ve won.

I finish making the bed in peace. Snow doesn’t help, but he does sort of hover over me, like some sort of benevolent insect.

“...I still think you should be nicer to yourself,” he says, as if it’s been five seconds since the end of our conversation instead of five minutes.

“Fine, Snow. I’ll try, all right?”

He smiles and pecks me on the cheek.

“All right.”

 

**Fiona**

The next time I see Baz, I’m going to throw a pack of condoms at him in front of his friends. It’d serve him right, the wanker, bringing his boyfriend (who I still don’t trust) over to his house, into his bed, under his parents’ noses, in the dead of bloody night. Half of me wishes they _would_ get caught, but I know how Baz is about Malcolm, and I’m not a bloody sadist, so I find reasons to keep Malcolm and Daphne occupied until the tosser himself finally emerges, pretty-as-you-please, with the girls in their Watford uniforms and Simon Snow in a tee shirt and pyjama bottoms.

Malcolm nearly drops his glass.

Daphne blinks once, slowly, and then plasters a smile onto her face. A right shame she wasn’t born into the Old Families.

“Basilー” Malcolm starts, but Daphne interrupts him.

“Basil,” she says airily. “I didn’t realize your friends were over.”

“They came in late,” he says cooly. “Heard about the library. Wanted to know if they could help.”

His parent’s eyes flick to Snow. I think they might actually do something to him. (Not to hurt him, just to scare him.) (He is a guest, after all.) Even Baz is starting to look nervous, which means he must be nearing the end of his rope. (He’s just like you, Tasha. Cool under pressure. Never shows fear.) (Unless his pyromancer father is about to stare literal holes in his new boyfriend.)

“I let them in,” I say, cursing myself for my softheartedness. Baz breathes a small sigh of relief as the focus shifts to me.

“Fiona,” Malcolm starts again, “you can’t justー”

“It is my house, Malcolm, and I’ll do as I like.”

I’m not wrong, not technically. I may have let Malcolm take over, but the house did pass to me when Natasha died. And after me it’ll pass to Baz. Technically none of this place belongs to Malcolm, and he know it.

Malcolm sighs and puts his head in his hand, pushing back his hair to reveal his widow’s peak. (It’s the only thing Baz got from him, as if the poor bastard weren’t already enough of a vampire joke.)

“Fine,” Malcolm says. “Just… fine.” He sits there for a moment, not looking up, until the silence turns awkward.

“Breakfast, anyone?” Daphne says lightly. “The sausage is still cooking but we have toast, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tea of course…”

“Breakfast sounds lovely, Mrs. Grimm,” says Agatha Wellbelove. For all the nasty things Baz has said about her over the years, the girl certainly knows her British stoicism.

 

**Agatha**

What the hell else am I supposed to do? I didn’t particularly want to come out here in the first place, and now Baz’s family doesn’t want us here, either. The only reason I agreed to this because Baz has been significantly less of an arsehole than usual lately and I’d like to keep it that way. But now Mr. Grimm is freaking out, and from what I can tell we’re supposed to just ignore it. It’s not unusual, exactly, I’m just sick of it. It reminds me too much of my mother. How she’ll smile to someone’s face and then say anything she likes behind their back.

But Simon can barely make it through the politics of my family’s Christmas parties, so there’s no way he can manage the Grimm-Pitches. (Everybody always forgets that Baz’s dad is a Grimm. Like, if you’re that obsessed with names, at least get them _right._ )

Penelope is at least _aware_ of the politics, but she still chooses to ignore them, because she doesn’t believe in keeping her opinions to herself. ( _“Everyone’s allowed to take up space, Agatha._ ” Which is fair, but does she have to take up space _all the time?_ ) From what I can tell, Baz is the only other person here who’s not likely to cause a scene. He catches my eye and I can tell he’s thinking something similar about me..

“Breakfast _does_ sound lovely,” he says. “Thank you, mum.”

I wait for Simon’s inevitable _“Mum?”_ but it doesn’t come. Then I realize that he’s already _been_ here before, for two full weeks, and he’s probably figured out by now to keep his foot out of his mouth about Baz’s family. Maybe this _won’t_ be such a disaster.

Except I definitely, definitely speak too soon, because just as we’re all heading from the dining room to the kitchen, Mr. Grim clears his throat.

“Basilton,” he says. “May I speak with you a moment.” It’s not a question.

If he weren’t already so pale, I think Baz would be blanching. I kind of feel sorry for him. I imagine having us here, having _Simon_ here, is something like if I went out with a Normal and brought them home to my mother. (Simon thinks she wouldn’t care if I did, but that’s only because I toned down all the power-talk in my family so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable.)

“Of course,” Baz says. “What is it, father?” _Father,_ I think. _Not dad._

Penny and I hurry Simon into the kitchen.

 

**Baz**

_This is it,_ I think. _This is when I tell him. This is probably when he disowns me._

“Baz,” he says, finally lifting his head from his hands. “Would you, um…” He gestures towards a chair. Wait. Is he _nervous?_

I sit.

“Basil,” he says again. “Baz. I… I’d like to ask you something.” _He knows,_ I think. I can tell he’s fighting to keep his voice straight, but I can’t tell what emotion he’s hiding. Anger? Shame? Disappointment? Possibly a combination of all three? (Probably a combination of all three.)

“Yeah?” I ask, doing what I hope is a better job than he is at sounding nonchalant.

“Baz,” (He keeps saying my name. He’s definitely nervous.) “have you, um, that is, are you and Simon Snow…” _Here it is. Here it is._ “...friends?” he asks finally.

I almost say, _“Friends?”_ but something in his demeanor stops me. Something about the way he’s looking at me…

I don’t think he meant “friends,” I think he meant “boyfriends.”

I think he knows that if he said it out loud, that would make it real.

It’s weak. It’s pathetically weak. But who I am I judge that? He’s given me a way out, a way around, and even though part of me is angry that I even need a way out, another part of me is grateful he’s offering me one.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

He nods slowly and swallows, looking away. “Right,” he says. “Right.”

I wait a moment, then start to stand up.

“Basil,” he says again.

I stop.

“Are you… happy?”

It takes me by surprise.

“Yeah, dad. I’m happy.”

This time he lets me leave.

 

**Malcolm**

At least he’s happy, right? Whatever he’s doing with the Mage’s Heir, he’s happy. I _want_ him to be happy.

Should I be doing something, Tasha? Should I be saying something else? Should I be asking different questions? I didn’t want to ask him anything at all, but I knew _you_ would never have let it go. You were never one to let things fester.

Your parents told you not to marry me. They said that I was using you, that I would never really love you. And you went ahead and married me anyway, and you hardly spoke to them again. I don’t want Baz to stop speaking to me.

Of course I don’t want him to be with Simon Snow, but I don’t want to lose him, either.

Oh, Tasha, you were always so good at this. Even Daphne’s a better parent to him than I am. Hell, even _Fiona’s_ a better parent than I am.

I wish you were here right now. I wish I could talk to you. I wish you could tell me what to do.

Everyone says to _just love him_ , but what does that mean? Nature or nurture? Do I intervene or do nothing? Do I talk to him or stay silent? Do I hold him back or let him burn?

 

**The Mage**

She won’t write about power but she’ll write about Malcolm. Endlessly, endlessly about Malcolm Grimm.

Maybe it’s some sort of clue. Maybe he’s the key. Maybe that’s what I’m missing.

Or maybe she’s just a lovesick little schoolgirl.

But she isn’t. She can’t be. This is Natasha Grimm-Pitch. There has to be _something_ in here. Malcolm will know. He must know.

And if he knows nothing? Well, I suppose we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I put about a million spaces after the end of that chapter bc I didn’t want to ruin the mood but this is the _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_  reference that Baz made earlier in the chapter, and the site wouldn't let me put an image in the end notes.

This popped into my head while I was writing and I couldn't help but put it in. (I know Buffy is specifically lesbian culture but I still think Baz watches it and complains about the vampire portrayals)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Someone was talking about how Simon would never watch Buffy but I totally see him and Agatha binge watching it over Christmas. (Agatha appreciates how magic is treated like a drug. Simon just likes the dialogue and the vampires.)


	12. A Perfectly Reasonable Amount of Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast in Baz’s house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t gotten to replying to any of the comments from Chapter 11 but I promise I will soon! Thank you all for leaving kudos and comments, I really appreciate them! This story has just completely blown up and I’m really really happy!
> 
> Less positive note: I’ve been having a really bad depressive episode for the past week or so and I’m working through it but I have no idea when it’s going to let up so trying to produce writing has just been very very difficult for me and probably will continue to be difficult for a bit, so thank you all for bearing with me. (Holy mother of run-on sentences)

**Simon**

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little terrified of Baz’s dad. Like, he doesn’t seem like a terrible guy, but from what Baz has said about him he sounds pretty homophobic. And now he’s talking to Baz. Possibly about me. And Baz is possibly telling him about me. About us. I mean, he said he was going to tell him yesterday, before the fire and everything, but still. I mean,  _ I’m _ terrified. I can’t imagine what Baz must be feeling.

Agatha makes small talk with Daphne (she insists on us calling her Daphne) as we wait. Even my anxiety over Baz doesn’t stop me from loading up my plate with what Penny says is a frankly ridiculous amount of food. (I don’t think it’s ridiculous. I’ve eaten way more before.) Whatever conversation Baz and his dad are having must be a short one, though, because we’ve all barely started eating by the time Baz walks in. He doesn’t say anything, but he looks… happy? Maybe? Except I’ve recently learned that Baz can fake being happy, so I really don’t know. He doesn’t look  _ unhappy, _ at least. He loads up a plate with food, and snorts when he sees how much I’m eating.

“Aleister Crowley, Snow, is this your new plot? Going to eat us out of house and home?”

I splutter. “Me? Plotting?  _ Me? _ You think  _ I’m _ the one plotting?”

Penelope snorts. Baz just grins.

Daphne makes a quiet exit, touching Baz lightly on the shoulder on her way out. I didn’t know what to make of her at first (I didn’t know what sort of stepmother she was), but by now I’ve figured out that she’s basically Baz’s mum. She acts like it, anyway, and so does he. I figure she’s probably off to talk to Mr. Grimm about whatever just happened, which reminds  _ me _ that it’s something possibly important.

“What was that about?” I ask.

Baz glances at the door Daphne just walked through before replying, “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Penny and Agatha are both watching us, but neither of them are saying anything.

“Does he know, then?” I ask, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

“Yes.”

“You told him?”

“Not specifically, no.”

_ Not specifically? _ I think

“Not specifically?” asks Penny.

Baz shrugs. “He asked me a question that clearly insinuated he was  _ really _ asking if Simon and I were dating, and I said yes, and then he asked me if I was happy, and I said yes, and then I got up.”

“And you’re… good with that?” I ask. The whole thing sounds really confusing and I feel like I’m walking on pretty thin ice right now. I can’t tell if we’re supposed to be pro- or anti- Malcolm Grimm.

“Considering I was expecting him to disown me and throw me out of the house, I’d say yes, I’m good with that response.”

“That’s fucked up,” says Penny.

“Pen!” I exclaim.

“What?” she says. “I’m not  _ wrong, _ am I? A parent’s love is supposed to be unconditional. If your kid honestly thinks that you’d  _ throw them out _ for being gay, then I’d call that a failure on your part. Even if you don’t actually throw them out. You are gay, aren’t you? I suppose I’ve never really asked.”

To my surprise, Baz just looks amused. “I am gay,” he says. “But it’s not the gay part I was worried about; I’ve already proven myself a complete and utter disappointment to my family in  _ that _ regard. It’s all right, Snow.” (I’ve put my hand on his arm in a way I hope he finds comforting.) “I’m not upset by it anymore. But my father has known I’m gay since fifth year. What  _ I _ was concerned about was his reaction to me dating the Mage’s Heir. And apparently, he’s all right with it.”

“Or he’s busy summoning the Old Families,” I say, “convening some sort of emergency meeting to send a crack squad to wipe me out.”

“Seeing as  _ I’m _ the crack squad who’s supposed to wipe you out, I’d say that’s pretty unlikely.”

“But he’s all right with it, yes?” Penny asks. “He’s not kicking you out?”

“Goodness, Bunce, are you  _ worrying _ about me?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you,” she says. “You’re my friend, Baz. It’s what friends do.”

“I’m touched,” says Baz.

I elbow him. He laughs.

“So,” says Agatha. (I’m a little surprised ー she hasn’t said anything since Baz came in.) “Baz’s dad knows, and I’m going to guess his stepmum either already knows or else Mr. Grimm is about to tell her, which means there’s one more person I think you should really consider telling.”

“Who?” I ask. I’m scanning my brain, but I genuinely can’t think of anyone else we need to tell.

Agatha sighs. Penny sighs. Next to me, Baz quirks an eyebrow.

“What?” I ask. “Who is it?”

“The Mage,” Baz says. “Obviously.”

“Oh.” I say. I feel a rush of anxiety. The Mage has overtly been using me to spy on Baz since first year. If he finds out I’m sleeping with the enemy, like,  _ actually _ sleeping with the enemy. (Like, in his bed, not like, you know…)

“Simon,” says Baz. I must be painfully easy to read right now. “We don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to.” 

“But you also don’t want him to find out about you two from Malcolm Grimm,” says Agatha.

“I know,” I say. To both of them, I guess. “I know, I’ve just… I haven’t really thought about it.”

Baz snorts and shakes his head. “Simon, you absolute numpty…” 

 

**Baz**

I love Simon, I really do, but he can be so  _ thick _ sometimes. He’s literally the Mage’s Heir but he’s never thought about what the Mage would think about us? About me? I mean, I obviously try to avoid thinking about my father as much as possible when I’m with Simon, but the anxiety alone was enough to force me to think about all possible reactions. (Daphne thinks I’ve got actual anxiety, like the disorder, but I think I have a perfectly reasonable amount of anxiety given the state of my life.) (Fiona agrees. I’m not sure if that helps or hurts my argument.)

Anyway, I know Snow is at least as anxious as I am, so I can only assume that he’s put  _ telling the Mage about my evil vampire boyfriend _ on his infernal “Things Not to Think About” list. I think it makes an atrocious coping mechanism. I wonder if Bunce has scolded him for it yet. (I’m sure she has.) (Bunce thinks Simon has anxiety, too.) 

“I’m not a numpty!” Simon says. “I just… I mean, what am I supposed to tell him? You know how the Mage is!”

“He just attempted to burn down my house, so yes, yes I do.”

“Library,” Wellbelove interjects.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she asks. “We don’t know that he wanted to burn down your whole house. He only burnt down the library.”

“Agatha,” says Bunce.

“I’m just being factual!”

_ “Anyway, _ ” I say, “my point is that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to not tell the Mage right now. Since he’s clearly attempting to provoke  _ something _ with my family, even if it’s not all-out war.”

“It’s not all-out war,” Snow says. I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not!” he insists. “The Mage may not be… making the best decisions right now, but the last thing he wants is an all-out war!”

 

**The Mage**

Obviously, arresting Malcolm Grimm would be an act of all-out war, but right now I see no other option. I need to question him. Not just about Natasha, but about the Families in general. If I ask him specifically about Natasha he’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll know that I don’t know what to do with Simon. And then the Old Families will know that I have no way to fight the Humdrum. What use is a weapon you don’t know how to wield?

Not that Simon is a weapon. Obviously not. But I know they all see him as one. Every last Grimm and Pitch in England see Simon as little more than a bomb. And maybe he isn’t anything more, but I know they would never give him a chance to be anything else.

I have to work quickly. I can already feel the time running out. Call it intuition. Call it fate. Whatever it is, I can feel it in the air. It’s tangible, and it’s stifling. Like a fire. Like a noose.

 

**Agatha**

Simon and Baz have spent the last half hour pretending they’re not arguing about the Mage, and honestly, I’m sick of it. If they’re going to fight I wish they would just…  _ fight. _ Just get it over with. I get that they’re in the honeymoon phase or whatever but at the end of the day they’re still Simon and Baz. The Simon and Baz who fight  _ constantly. _ The Simon and Baz who Ebb had to spell away from each other  _ a hundred and sixty-two times _ our third year (I counted). It’s just  _ uncomfortable _ to sit next to them while they’re pulling this passive-aggressive bullshit. Simon keeps getting more and more flustered, running his hands through his hair like he’s going to start ripping it out, and Baz keeps getting more and more sarcastic, pausing every so often to sip his tea like he’s a fucking Kardashian. Penny is on her mobile, texting Micah, and I am left trying to ignore the ridiculous amount of tension in the room.

By some blessing (perhaps an act of god, or perhaps an act of magic) I don’t have to wait long for someone to interrupt. Just as I think Simon is finally about to start yelling, a tiny mass of human comes barrelling through the kitchen door and nearly tackles Baz straight out of his chair.

“Mordelia!” Baz says, grabbing the counter to stabilize himself. “What the living fuck?”

“Language, Basil!” Daphne calls from the dining room. The girl ー Mordelia ー cackles.

“Got you!” she says loudly. “I’ve been practicing! For football!”

“ _ American _ football, maybe,” Baz mutters.

“Hey!” Mordelia smacks him on the arm.

“No hitting,” says Baz.

“Well, you deserved it!”

“No hitting, even when you think they deserve it.”

“This coming from you?” I ask.

Baz raises an eyebrow at me. He looks surprised, but amused. I take it as a compliment.

“Basil hits people?” Mordelia asks.

“Basil hits Simon,” says Penelope, without even looking up from her mobile.

“But I thought you liked Simon?”

“Oh, no, little puff, I  _ detest _ Simon,” says Baz. “Inviting him here was all part of my plot to kidnap him and kill him in his sleep, but now you’ve gone and ruined it.”

Mordelia rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “Are there scones?”

Baz lets out a long-suffering sigh and looks at me. “Do you see what he’s done to her?” he asks. “Two weeks in my home and he turned my sister into a mindless scone vacuum.”

Simon elbows him.

“No hitting, Snow.”

Mordelia laughs. Penny snorts. Even I crack a smile.

This whole thing is fucking ridiculous.

 

**Simon**

I love Baz. I really do. I love him like this, teasing me and taunting his little sister. Smiling. Laughing. I wish we could just keep  _ this. _ Whatever this is. I just want this thing with us to work  _ so fucking badly _ , and it’s been going so  _ well _ . Three straight weeks of next to no problems, and then this. The fire. The Mage. I just don’t  _ understand. _

I try to think like Penny, to write it out in lists.

Reasons for the Mage to burn down the Pitch library:

  1. Because he hates them
  2. Because _they_ hate _him_
  3. Because they had illegal books
  4. To scare them
  5. To send a message
  6. Because he hates them
  7. Because he _hates_ them.



I don’t think I’ve ever hated anybody. I used to think I hated Baz, but clearly that was just some kind of weird sexual frustration. I’ve tried to hate the Humdrum, but I don’t really know how to  _ hate _ something I barely even understand. I’ve disliked people, sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever hated. I don’t think I’d even know how to go about hating someone. But the Mage? The Mage knows how to hate. The Mage hates the Humdrum. The Mage hates the Old Families. The Mage hates the Pitches. 

And Baz hates the Mage.

He tries not to talk about it. I don’t even know if he’s even  _ told _ me explicitly. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Even I managed to figure that much out, and I’m, well, me. But he knows that I love the Mage, so he tries to be nice about it.

Except when the Mage burns down his library, which I really… I can’t justify that, can I?

Say it was actually about the books, say the Pitches owned something illegal. Why go after it  _ now? _ What point could he have? The more I think about it, the more obvious it is that he really had no reason. Except fear. And power. I think of all the Old Family kids, all the ones leaving Watford. They weren’t leaving because they were angry, they were leaving because they were  _ afraid _ .

Maybe Baz doesn’t hate the Mage. Maybe he’s just afraid of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a really hard time writing and this came out a little inner monologue-y, so sorry for that. I hope you enjoyed it anyway :)


	13. Things I Cannot Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An absurd amount of Fiona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally read Fangirl! I picked it up about an hour after posting 12 and read it all in one sitting lol. I’ve really been sleeping on Rainbow Rowell.
> 
> Thank you to all the well-wishers. I’m taking care of myself and this is very very far from my lowest point, just a dip in my general being. I promise I’m okay :)
> 
> I’d like to apologize in advance for the shortness of this chapter. Usually I try to keep between 2k-3k words but this one is more like 1.8k, but I wanted to explore something specific and I didn't want to force more words than I needed.
> 
> A note that Chapter 14 will be the last one before a temporary hiatus for the start of my senior year. I have some new plot points in mind (that are admittedly a little bit inspired by My Blood from Trench ー go listen to it if you haven’t), and it’s going to take me a bit to figure out how to set them up the way I want them. Plus, I’m going to have schoolwork and rehearsal and a million other things, so I think that the update schedule is just going to be very sporadic.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos. Your support really means the world to me. I’ve had a hard time believing that my work is worth anything, and even though this isn’t my original fiction, it still means a lot to receive such amazing feedback for it.

**Fiona**

I feel lost, sister. Utterly lost. I keep up the facade, of course, because that’s what you would have done, but I don’t know how long I can hold.

I know it’s the Mage. Fucking Davy. I know he did this to you. What with the fire and all, he may as well have confirmed it himself. D’you remember the time you set fire to the library? Burned halfway through dad’s collection of illustrated histories of Magickal Britain before he smelled the smoke and put that fire right out.

But dad wasn’t here this time, and we lost a lot more than a few old pixie illustrations.

See, Malcolm put most of your things in boxes in your old room, the one from when we were kids. It’s halfway between a storage closet and a shrine now, all strewn with memories of you. I go in there sometimes on your birthday. Malcolm goes in on your anniversary. Neither of us can stand it for long, but it’s nice in small doses. It smells like Earl Grey, and it’s got all your things there.  _ Almost _ all your things.

Malcolm put all your journals in the library.

Eighty-seven journals and about twenty years’ worth of you. Up in smoke.

I’m going to burn  _ him _ one day. (The Mage, not Malcolm.) I’ll send Davy up in smoke, just like he did to you, and I’ll laugh in his filthy, murderous face.

Baz, your Basil, I don’t think he even knew about the journals. He wouldn’t have been able to read them, anyway. I know you were teaching him Arabic, before…  _ before _ . But Malcolm doesn’t know it, and I just couldn’t bring myself to speak it. Not after everything. It was always  _ our language. _ Never mind that millions of people probably speak it, maybe even a few at Watford, it was  _ ours. _ Yours and mine. I never even taught it to Nicky. Or Ebb. And as much as I try to keep you alive for him (For Baz. For Basil.) there are some things that I just can’t do.

I can’t call him Ty. And I can’t teach him Arabic.

I can love him, though. And I can watch out for him. Even when he’s being incredibly thick. Like dating the Mage’s Heir, for example. Running around with Davy’s underlings. Meeting with Nico. Goading his father. Whatever the fuck else he’s up to.

I think he’s happy with Simon Snow. Baz won’t tell me how long he’s been in love with him, but I’ve a feeling it’s been a very long time. Little bastard. If he’d just  _ told _ me I would’ve stopped plotting how to kill the poor kid and started plotting how to seduce him. The Families could use someone like Snow. (Assuming he’s not just toying with Baz, that is.) (I’ll kill him myself if he’s toying with Baz. Nobody fucks with my kid.) We tried to bring him round, at first, when the Mage dug him up out of some Normal orphanage. But Davy (fucking Davy) kept him hidden away in his room at Watford. Like we were dangerous. Like we were really going to hurt a fucking eleven-year-old. But that’s Davy, isn’t it? Treating us all like bloodthirsty convicts while  _ he _ raids homes and burns down libraries. Bloody typical.

I’m up in the library now, what’s left of it. Thought I’d give Baz and his mismatched entourage some space for breakfast. Malcolm pulled Baz aside, and I considered staying, just to make sure he didn’t say anything he’d regret, but he had this  _ look _ in his eye. This sad fucking look. The one like he had that one night Baz cooked him dinner, after you were gone. (I use “cooked” in the loosest sense. The kid microwaved a bowl of soup. But he was only five at the time, so I think it counts as cooking.) Malcolm hadn’t eaten for than a few crackers and some tea in about a week, and then Baz came in with a massive bowl of soup and two spoons and Malcolm finally caved. That’s what he looked like at breakfast this morning, like a man at the end of his rope. Like Baz was the only reason he was still hanging on.

So I decided to trust him, just this once, to do the right thing. To tell Baz he loves him. Or better, to actually  _ show _ it, instead of just saying it. I know how Malcolm was raised, Tasha. And believe it or not, I do like him. I don’t know if he counts as a good man, but I know he tries to be. And that’s all any of us can do, isn’t it?

Still, I’m pretty fucking relieved when Baz comes to find me after breakfast and he isn’t in tears. (He’s got the weirdest brand of emotional control, that kid. When he’s upset, either he’s plastered his face with that cooler-than-thou expression, or he’s sobbing his eyes out into a pillow. There really is no in-between.) He says his dad knows, and that he isn’t upset about it, which is a blessing and a half. (I do try to have faith in your Malcolm, sister, but I never know how he’ll react to these things.)

He also asks if I can drive him and Simon to Watford. ( _ Simon. _ Not Snow.) Apparently there’s some issue with the girls returning the car they came in, so Bunce and Wellbelove are going back to Watford in one car and Simon’s asked if he can go back with Baz. I don’t think he means to emphasize that part, that Simon’s asked specifically to go back with him, but I think even a stranger would notice the way his voice perks up when he says it. Daft bastard really is in love, isn’t he? He reminds me of Malcolm, actually. How he was with you. I’m surprised anyone at Watford doesn’t know they’re together, the way Baz talks about him.

“I’ll drive you,” I say, “but no snogging in my car.”

And you know what, Tasha? The bastard actually blushes.

 

**Baz**

I can tell already that Fiona’s going to spend the rest of her life mocking me endlessly about Simon Snow. And I don’t even care. I was so worried she was going to be mad at me for dating him, for being stupid enough to fall for him in the first place, but so far she’s taken this the same way she takes me coming home drunk or smoking cigarettes by the forest ー with a shake of her head and a look to the sky. Sometimes she’ll mutter something ( _ “You see this bullshit?” _ ) like she’s talking to my mother. And then I can nearly picture my mum off somewhere, looking in on me from the spirit realms and shaking her head right along too. It’s a comforting image. Makes me feel like maybe I’m not shaming my mother by dating Simon. Like maybe she would’ve understood. Like maybe she would’ve even liked him.

“Thanks, Fiona,” I say, trying to ignore her teasing (even though I know that I’m probably blushing).

“Just get in the car,” says Fiona. “You’ll need to get back soon, if you want time to finish your homework.”

Homework. How utterly mundane.

 

**Natasha**

There are so many things that I wish I could say, so many things that you’ll never hear.

I see what you’ve done for Baz, and I hear you, sister. And I love you. And I miss you. And I’m proud of you.

And I fear for you.

 

**Fiona**

The ride back to Watford is a mirror image of  _ last _ Sunday. Simon and Baz are in the backseat, looking nervous as all hell. I’m blasting the radio and doing my best to leave them alone. The only difference is that this time their holding hands. Not even talking, not even looking at each other, just holding hands. I feel a tug at my heart. Maybe Simon really does love Baz. I certainly hope he does. Baz deserves a little happiness. I think they probably both do.

Baz and Simon both drop each other’s hands as we come near Watford. (I suppose some things still haven’t changed. I park the car just outside the gates. The Mage’s Men are guarding it again, and if they try to vet me for a visiting pass today I might just kill one of them.

I get out of the car to say a proper goodbye to Baz. He even hugs me a little, which is impressive for a teenage boy. Though it’s not like there’s anyone around to take the piss. Watford looks half empty today. Practically nobody out on the Great Lawn, though I do see Dev and Niall, Baz’s usual friends. They’re looking at him strangely. I wonder if they know about Simon.

I’m surprised to see Dev here, to be honest. Niall’s family is a little less involved in the Old Families, but Dev’s family are actual relatives. I heard his mother was going to pull him, after the fire, but I suppose he must’ve talked her out of it.

Baz and Simon go through the security at the gate, and I can tell they put significantly more time into searching Baz than they do Simon. Never mind that Snow is one who’s got a literal monster wearing his face.

The boys are finally waved through, and that’s when it happens. I see someone else on the lawn, someone altogether too familiar. My heart nearly stops.

A million things go through my head. A million days, a million nights. I haven’t spoken to her in years, and I haven’t seen her since Baz’s first day at Watford.

Ebb smiles at me, and waves. I look away.

I never told her why I stopped talking to her, I just  _ did _ . She probably thinks that I blame her, or that I resent her, or something, but that’s not it. Not even close. And I can’t exactly tell her, can I? Because it’s not her fault. Not at all. It’s not her fault she looks like him.

I get back in my car, but it takes me a minute to steel myself enough to actually drive the damn thing.

I shouldn’t be this shaken. It’s only Ebb.

Ebb, who I spent every day with at Watford. Ebb, who was my fucking roommate for  _ eight years _ , for Christ’s sake. Of course she wouldn’t ignore me. Even after, what, eighteen years of radio silence? I could get out of my car right now and go talk to her, and she’d probably invite me for tea. Because that’s just how she is. Sweet, loving Ebbie, with a taste for rum and a killer right hook.

I almost do it, I almost go talk to her. But I don’t. Because I can’t.

There are some things I cannot do.

So I start up the car and drive away. In the rearview mirror, I can see Baz talking to his friends on the lawn. Simon Snow is hovering around behind him.

At least Baz still has a chance at a happy ending. Even if it’s a small one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do they know I was grown with you?


	14. An Unlikely Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm gets a visitor at work + Dev and Niall can finally settle their bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one before school! Thank you so much to everybody who had left kudos and comments. This story is currently at 104 subscribers and over 400 kudos which is just absolutely wild. I started writing this hoping a few people would read it and maybe even like it. I never expected all of this and even though 400 people probably isn’t a lot for the internet, it’s a lot to me. So thank you, all of you, and I promise I will do the best I can to get back into a normal schedule once school has settled down.  
> Also, for those of you looking for something to read while I’m temporarily out of commission, I’ve got several recs listed in my bookmarks, and two of them are decently long multichapters (around 130k and 28k words, respectively).  
> So sorry this is late, I was doing back-to-school stuff with my mom.

**Malcolm**

I don’t need to work, not technically. Fiona doesn’t. But then, it’s her money, isn’t it? Pitch money.  _ Old _ money. I’ve done my best to shed that nouveau-riche air that Tasha’s parents always despised, but I could never bring myself to stop working. I don’t judge Fiona for  _ not _ working, I just feel lazy if I’m never doing anything. No, not  _ lazy _ , exactly, just… useless. So I work.

I work for the Old Families, mostly, handling political platforms, arranging meetings with important members of the magickal community across the globe, trying to make sense of the Mage’s jumbled Reforms. This past summer we managed a sort of strike in Wales, got everyone to stop paying those ridiculous tithes the Mage has been trying to impose. As if we don’t already pay our property taxes and income taxes and everything else to the British government, bloody  _ Davy  _ expects us to pay taxes to the practically nonexistent magickal government? Magic isn’t some religion, and the Mage is not the Pope. Tasha would never demand money from other magicians just to line her own pockets.

The one thing that calms me is the sight of the beautiful old stone building where I (along with several other magicians) rent an office. Daphne and I met here. She calls our work PR ー Public Relations. Says that's what the Normals call it. She works with Normal politicians all the time, helping them keep up their image and win their elections. Daphne’s been on leave from work for about a year now, though, since the baby was born. We don’t have to worry about money, since Natasha left everything to me and Baz (my own son’s trust fund is worth more than my parent’s house growing up), so Daphne hasn’t been too stressed about coming back to work. And I know taking care of the children is a full-time job anyway, even with Vera around. Still, I miss going to work with her. I miss having her next door all day to bounce ideas off of, to solve the unsolvable problems, sometimes just to talk to. I can manage the work alone, but it’s quieter. Lonelier. No real-life voices to drive the thoughts away.

Except today I’m not alone. I can tell that almost immediately. I feel a bit paranoid, at first, pulling my wand out in public on my way from the lobby of the Normal building to my office on the sixth floor. But I know I’m being followed, and I know it must be the Mage’s doing. Daphne wouldn't try to surprise me, because she knows I can’t take… things. And the rest of the Old Families know it too, though they have the decency to whisper about it when I can’t hear. So it must be the Mage.

I feel it all the way up to floor six (the elevators are out of order, which means the stairs are almost unbearably crowded) and then I don’t feel it at all. Suddenly I’m  _ not _ being followed, and that’s almost worse. I force my hands to steady their shaking and take a deep breath. Just because he burned down our library does not mean he attacked the nursery. The monsters that attacked the nursery weren’t even the ones who  _ burned it down _ . That was Tasha. The library is just a coincidence. Or a mockery. It does not mean he’ll attack in broad daylight. It does not mean he’s capable of murder.

With my thoughts in check and my anxiety smothered by a liberally applied amount of reason, I make my way down the hall and unlock my office door.

My fears are instantly realized.

 

**Baz**

I don’t know why I head over to Dev and Niall. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t get away with  _ not _ talking to them. Or maybe my conversation with my father has given me a dose of courage I didn’t know I had. Or maybe Snow’s reckless idiocy is finally rubbing off on me. Whatever it is, I feel it pull me across the Great Lawn. My face morphs into a casually bored expression. My hands find their way nonchalantly into my pockets. Snow trails behind me, looking nervous and a bit confused, as I stride casually over to Dev and Niall and strike up a conversation. The two of them share a look for a moment, but they quickly move past it and chat with me like Snow’s presence in our conversation is a perfectly usual occurrence. Good men.

“Half of Watford’s being pulled,” Dev says. “My mum even tried to pull  _ me _ , not that I can blame her. Bloody’ fire, and all that. Doesn’t want me around when it all goes down.”

My mouth twists. “Doesn’t want you around me, you mean?”

Dev snorts. “Like I’ve got a choice. Our family’s in this just as much as yours, aren’t we? At least Niall here’s got the option to fuck right on off.”

“What, and miss you lot going up in smoke? Never,” Niall says. Dev elbows him. Niall elbows Dev right back.

Beside me, Simon makes an odd noise. I turn to look at him, and so to Dev and Niall, but he’s just laughing. Snow is laughing. At my friends.  _ With  _ my friends. And after a moment of initial surprise, they’re grinning right back at him.

And then I can’t help it anymore.

Bunce knows. Wellbelove knows. Fiona and my father and Daphne all know. What’s two more to add to that list?

I quirk an eyebrow at Snow. “Something funny, love?” I ask.

Simon wrinkles his nose at me. And then he freezes. His face drops slowly. He looks at Dev and Niall. Dev is still grinning, sort of, though it’s turned a little maniacal, and Niall’s face is slowly fading into one of… exasperation?

“Fuck,” Niall says.

Dev cackles. “I called it!” he says. “Friggin’ called it!”

“I know, I know,” Niall mutters, digging around in his pockets. He pulls out a tenner, which Dev quickly snatches out of his hands.

“You what?” I ask. Because how the fuck else am I supposed to react?

Dev cackles again. “I bet Niall ten pounds you were gay  _ ages _ ago.”

“And I bet Dev you were ace,” Niall says glumly.

“Ace?” I ask. 

“Asexual.”

Well then.

Snow snorts. The bastard. “‘Asexual’ is definitely not the word I would use.

I shoot him a withering look, trying desperately not to blush. Dev crows, and I glower at him, too.

“Well,” I say dryly. “I was expecting something more along the lines of abject terror, and I think I would prefer that to this cruel injustice.”

Dev and Niall dissolve into a torrent of overly-soothing _Oh, poor Basil_ s, and I’m starting to see why Bunce isn’t friends with any of her family members.

“Fuck off,” I say to them, though I can tell that my malice doesn’t quite reach my expression. I opt for Plan B: the over-dramatic eye roll. This only serves to bring more laughter down upon me. Even  _ Snow _ is laughing, the bloody git, and  _ Merlin and Morgana,  _ when he looks at me like that I have to fight not to laugh right along with him.

 

**Simon**

Baz’s friends are nice, actually, once we start talking. They tease Baz relentlessly for “wasting their childhoods” on his nefarious plots ( _ Plots! _ Haha! I  _ knew _ he was plotting!), and they don’t bother tiptoeing around their politics. It’s kind of difficult to hear, some of it, but it’s also really interesting. I’ve never really heard about the Mage’s politics from anyone besides the Mage, and while I’m definitely pro-reforms, Dev and Niall are actually making some fairly decent points. And Baz seems to relax, which is also a plus. Usually talking about the Mage sets him on edge, but I guess he’s all right with it so long as he’s not the one talking.

I’m a little surprised he told his friends. I mean, up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t even sure they were  _ really _ his friends. He calls them his minions, sometimes, but they call themselves his minions, too, so I figure it’s some kind of inside joke. 

“Wait,” says Niall. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“Yes, Niall?” Baz says cooly. It’s good to see he’s this much of an arsehole with them, too.

“Does this mean Wellbelove is single?” Niall asks.

Baz rolls his eyes dramatically, and Dev groans.

I’m not going to lie, I’m a little weirded out, but not because I’m jealous. I just can’t imagine Agatha dating Niall. I mean, I guess I can’t really imagine Agatha dating  _ me, _ either, but still.

“Give it a rest, won’t you?” Dev asks. “She’s obviously not interested.”

“She talked to me just the other day,” Niall insists.  _ So he wasn’t just there to harass me and Penny. _

“Only because you cornered her, Niall, and that was only about politics, anyway.”

Niall huffs. “Fine,” he says mournfully. “I’ll just rot in misery with you, then.”

Baz snorts. “Not with me, you won’t.”

“I was speaking,” Niall pronounces, “to Dev.”

“And you lot say I’m the dramatic one.”

 

**Malcolm**

He turns around in his chair when I open the door. He’s sitting at my desk, in ordinary clothes for once, as if he’s made an appointment. My knuckles tighten around my wand.

“David,” I say.

His mouth twitches upwards, and I fight the instant wave of nausea that follows the movement.

“Malcolm,” he says cooly. “I was wondering if you could assist me in a rather, well,  _ delicate  _ endeavor.”

_ Delicate. _ Meaning top-secret. Meaning this is a threat.

“Of course,” I say, because I have no other options. Tasha could have turned him to dust in the blink of an eye, but I’m not half that powerful. I set my briefcase on top of my desk and sit down in my chair, forcing my hands to lie perfectly still on the cool wood surface. “How may I be of service?”

The Mage picks up a box that I didn’t notice coming in and sets it on the desk. He launches into some sort of grand, trailblazing progressive bullshit speech, and even in a situation as “delicate” as this, I can’t bring myself to listen. Because inside the box…

Rough, dark fingers grazing over the pages. Warping the thin leather covers. Scratching infinitesimal letters into the paper. Smudged ink on her hands from writing right to left. Old pens littering the floor, the desk, the kitchen counter. Old books peeking out from the drawer in her bedside table.

_ I thought they were gone _ . I thought they had burned. But if they didn’t…

“What do you want from her?” I ask, interrupting the Mage. My voice is dark. It takes him by surprise. Good.

“Pardon?” he asks, after a beat.

I twist my features into what must be a grotesque smile. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s how to look like a villain.  _ If you’re the most dangerous thing in the room, then nothing can touch you. _

It worked for her.

Most of the time.

“What do you want from Natasha Pitch?” I ask. My voice is cold, and my choice of surnames is deliberate. She chose to change her name, so everyone would know that she had chosen me, that we had chosen each other, but she will always be Natasha Pitch to me. Brilliant. Powerful. Practically untouchable. 

The Mage tries to match my terrible smile, but he’s not quite so good at lying as he thinks he is. “I want her power,” he says. “I want her knowledge.”

“Well, she’s dead, so you’ve come a bit late. Thirteen years or so.” I’ve lost track of the days. I used to count them, but Daphne said it was unhealthy. She was right, of course, but I still feel the compulsion.

“I’m quite aware that she’s dead, Malcolm,” (Merlin, it takes everything I have not to start shooting sparks.) “but I think you can help me reach her. Not literally, of course, butー” He gestures to the journals ー “figuratively.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. (That took ages for me to get down. Tasha always did it so easily. I practiced and practiced until I got it perfect, and then the next time she quirked an eyebrow at me, I quirked mine right back. She nearly choked on her tea. It was worth every second.)

“And why,” I ask slowly, “would I do that?”

The Mage smiles genuinely this time, and my stomach twists. I can tell by that look that he’s got me. He  _ knows  _ he’s got me. And he hasn’t even made the damn offer.

“Answer my questions, tell no one of them, and I…” He pauses, just to see if he can make me squirm. My mask doesn’t budge. His smile slips momentarily, but he quickly recovers it. “I will help you hunt the monster responsible,” he says. “And I will personally bring them to justice.”

 

**The Mage**

I'm bluffing, of course, but it’s a bluff I’ve thought through long enough. I’ve been struggling on all three fronts of this war. I need an edge. If I can get the Old Families on my side, even momentarily, it could be just what I need to take down the Humdrum, once and for all. And if gaining the Families’ trust comes at the cost of the dark creatures, so much the better.

I can’t give them my name, of course. And all of the bloodsuckers who attacked the school are dead. But I do know a vampire or two with the potential to cause a lot of trouble for me. A vampire who has recently been caught speaking with Malcolm’s son. A vampire the Grimm-Pitches would be happy to burn.

If they want a villain, let’s give them a villain.

Malcolm’s cheek twitches, just a little.  _ Movement _ . I can practically see the mechanisms whirling in that cold, slippery mind of his. He’s kept his face blank all this time, but I know I’ve hit his weakness. They say the poor bastard tried to off himself after his wife died. He’d do anything to bring her justice, anything to give her peace. It's an unlikely truce, but one he knows he has to make. I've got him cornered.

Slowly, reluctantly, he reaches across his desk. I clasp his hand, and he pulls out his wand.

**“A gentleman’s word is his bond.”**

Checkmate.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye for now my lovelies, and thank you!


End file.
